#this doesn’t cover actually mounting the critter

[hmtaxidermy]

Hello! I have a question in regards to a roadkill fox I found. I skinned the fox and since I had no idea what to do with it, I stuck the pelt into a bag and stuck it in my deep freezer for later.

My question is, what can I do with the pelt? I have no idea if freezing it was a bad move or not. I'd like to taxidermy it but I'm unsure how to go about cleaning the pelt. The fox was pretty dehydrated when I found it so the pelt had a lot of fat still stuck to it before I froze it.

I'm familiar with cleaning and working with bones, and not much else. I'd really appreciate any advice or ideas you might have! Thank you!

Hello!

Freezing it was the RIGHT move!!

When in doubt, freeze.

Now that it’s frozen, you kinda have a lot of options. You can mount it or turn the pelt into some sort of fabric or crafts project, whatever you’d like.

However, you need to tan it if you’re going to do anything.

I’ve posted the link before but I’ll do it again because it really is a great tutorial:

Not my post, but it is the tutorial I follow when tanning.

Tbh, what I’d do before even buying any tanning supplies is I’d thaw out my fox and lightly tug on the fur. If it comes out easily in large chunks, it’s developed “slip.” This is due to decay. You can still try to tan it, but it may not be worth it depending on where the slip is.

If everything’s ok, you can either 1) throw him back in the freezer and wait for your supplies to come in or 2) remove large pieces of fat and meat with a scalpel/knife and salt the hide thoroughly. This is explained further in the tutorial ^

You want fine-grain plain salt.

As for when you actually need to flesh it post-pickle, I recommend getting a hide scraper from McKenzie’s. (Assuming you’re an American, oops.) Makes it fall off easy. You can also get your mounting supplies there! Though, you won’t need to worry about that until the hide is tanned.

You will need to prep the face if your goal is to mount it later. You can either do this after you thaw it or after the pickle.

Hopefully this covers everything!

Feel free to ask anything else or for clarification.

And good luck with your fox!

[cityseeker789]

Kayaking the Hobart Waterfront and Covering the City’s Natural and Man Made Marvels

Welcome to Tasmania. This little island off Australia's southeastern coast is probably one of the most beautiful places you'll have ever been to. Tazzie, as the Aussies would like to call it, is quite underrated as a destination. In Australia, they call it mini New Zealand, the love child of Australia and a museum, but it's stunningly beautiful.

Happy New Year! First off, from Marieville Esplanade, Hobart, TAS, Australia, 7004, hop onto a kayak for an amazing morning of sunshine and splashes. Enjoy an extraordinary day, basking in the equanimous, agreeable waters and digging into your favorite fish and chips—the stuff of royalty. The day is breezy and graced by those gentlest of caresses that only a breeze can blow, conjuring up an ambiance suitable for paddling away on the Roaring 40s Kayaking's Hobart City Tour. It doesn’t get any better than spending a day doing a lap of Fortescue Bay on the Tasman Peninsula. Your time at Bramble Cove will be a laugh riot, filled with hair-raising tales of bravery.  You would think you have discovered a new species only to find out that it is a common local critter. If pigs could fly… Paddle away around the picture-perfect waterfront and discover the city from a position you have never taken in life, marking a paradigm shift in your perception of the city, down to the humblest of creatures around you.

Kayaking done, our next stop on the Hobart, Australia, tourist attractions bucket list is Salamanca market, where, every Saturday, there's the biggest market in Hobart. You have got to come to the South America market. Of course, the scallop here is top-notch. The buildings are all heritage structures.

Having paid for your entry ticket, you are in the wildlife sanctuary. The Tasmanian Devil is there and so is the kangaroo. They really take care of the kangaroos there, who enjoy life in the knowledge that people would keep giving food and just sleep their way through the afternoon. The sanctuary is big, so they've got plenty of space to run around. Next up is the tazzie devil; it is such a fantastic experience seeing the tazzie devil because it's an endangered species. In the wild, they only live for about five or six years, but here, in the sanctuary, they're really taken care of and live for up to nine years. They're in an enclosure. Visiting these places is actually very good for your awareness about wildlife. The staff are very knowledgeable and friendly. Up next on the agenda is Mount Wellington, the highest peak in Hobart. It's freezing cold, like five degrees, and it's windy up there. At the top, it is breathtaking, but the wind chill factor makes your hands tremble. Then, get up to the observatory, and it's actually quite warm, but you will be looking down toward Hobart City, which is a breathtaking view, one where just down to the bottom, it's 25 degrees, and up there, it’s five degrees.

Author Name Sarang Chari

[maniculum]

The College of Grotesque Arts -- Week Two

For new people, I'm doing the Dungeon23 megadungeon project, basing each room on the marginalia of a different page in the 14th-century Luttrell Psalter. Previous entries in this project can be found here.

If you find this interesting at all, I'm going to do, like, fifty more of these posts. So, you know, follow to see that.

Before I get started on this week’s stuff, I want to address a worldbuilding thing that occurred to me after I established the existence of the Caretakers (which was mostly done to handwave why everything isn’t covered in filth and the critters haven’t all died off): if the Caretakers are still active, why are the critters able to just roam around and establish themselves in whatever room they want? Why aren’t the Caretakers maintaining cages & pens and corralling escaped critters? 

The answer is that the Caretakers used to do these things autonomously, but this caused problems: the wizards would relocate a specimen, and the Caretakers would decide it had “escaped” and bring it back to its original location. Remembering to update the Caretakers every time they moved something around turned out to be too much of a pain, so their behavior was altered to only go after escaped critters if given a specific order or in extraordinary circumstances. (Like the critter attacking them, in which case they subdue it and put it wherever they “think” it’s supposed to be.) They also kind of do repairs, but it’s very low on their priority list and they rarely get around to it — the reason that a lot of the furniture is still present, albeit broken and rotting, is because the Caretakers will periodically restore it with fabricate or other spells if they don’t have anything else in their queue. As for cages, at least on the first floor, there aren’t any left. Caretaker One’s task of “feed metal to the fish” is higher-priority than “fix stuff”, and the cages were scavenged for this purpose pretty early on. (The create food & water effect apparently doesn’t put as much metal content into the fish food as the wizards wanted, and giving them scrap-metal supplements was supposed to be a temporary fix. If you really want to screw with your players, by the way, you could have Caretaker One come through their campsite on any night they spend on the first floor and “scavenge” any metal equipment they have laying around.)

We should also establish that the doors throughout the dungeon are rarely that securely shut, and unlocked unless otherwise noted. There are frequently large holes in them. The critters aren’t really confined anywhere, and if they do get stuck, they can escape when a Caretaker inevitably comes through the door on its rounds. I should start mentioning the doors when I do room descriptions. Or just make a Doors Table. Hm. I’ll come back to that.

Anyway, the new content is below the cut. You’ll note that the passages Appendix A likes to generate got a little out of hand in this section — good thing I already established that the ridiculous and labyrinthine layout is a feature, not a bug.

Room 1.8: f.16v

This room has a set of stairs down to the second level in the northwest corner. In the southwest corner, there’s a large metal lever mounted on the wall that looks rusted but still operative. Pulling this lever produces a grinding noise from elsewhere in the dungeon. The actual effect is that it opens a sturdy metal door in the passage to the north (the one marked “S” on the map) — this door has no handle or lock, and can’t really be opened otherwise unless the PCs want to try and bust it down. Pulling the lever again closes it. (This is my response to the incredibly pointless secret door Appendix A wanted me to put there — the door and the trigger are both obviously visible, because why would you bother to hide them?)

In this room, you will also find a cat. Yep. Just a regular-ass cat. How, you may ask, did a completely normal cat get down here? Listen. How do cats get anywhere? No, it isn’t anyone’s lost pet — it’s a feral cat that slipped down here and then stuck around because the Caretakers recognize it as an Animal and keep feeding it. (That should keep your players busy for, like, a half-hour minimum. Longer if you keep emphasizing how completely normal this cat is.)

The cat is in this room because it’s hunting mathagats. A mathagat is a creature roughly the size and shape of an earthworm, with wings and a goat’s head. They travel in… swarms? herds? clews? flocks? ... bunches, and feed on the small plants & fungi that grow on the dungeon architecture. Like algae-eater fish. There are a bunch here, grazing on a patch of some sort of mold on the east wall. I’m not going to give these guys stats, because, like… why would you? They’re not aggressive, and will fly away rather than fight. If the PCs want to catch one or smoosh one or something, just have them make a (difficult) Dexterity check. They might be able to do one point of damage with their wee little horns.

Room 1.9: f.17r

This room is fairly clear of clutter, but a few small bits of wood on the floor indicate that there used to be something here. 

The only obvious feature of this room is the presence of a long-tailed stabbybird. It’s investigating the crevices between the stones on the south wall when the PCs enter, but it seems pretty territorial and has an immediate violent reaction when the PCs open the door. A long-tailed stabbybird looks a bit like a wingless ostrich, with green feathers on the body rather than black and white, a longer beak, two weird floppy red ears, and a very, very long tail. Its tongue has sharp “teeth” along the sides, and it can stick it out rapidly to stab prey. They’re not hugely mobile, with stubby little legs, and rely on their long neck & very long prehensile tail to access stuff out of their reach — none of them have managed to exit the dungeon, so PCs won’t be familiar. This one is also suffering from Bonus Face Syndrome, and is contagious (see Room 1.3). But seriously, look how long this thing’s tail is.

Yeah. There’s a reason I just cut it off for that first image. Anyway, since I’ve made it violent, I better provide stats. As before, feel free to adjust the stats or multiply the number of creatures... Hm. Hold on. I just realized that this is the second of two aggressive monsters I’ve made and they both have Bonus Face Syndrome. Canon: In the later stages, sufferers of BFS become unusually aggressive and violent. Anyway, stats:

Long-tailed Stabbybird: CR 5, XP 1600; N Medium Magical Beast; Init +1; Senses Low-Light Vision, Darkvision 60ft; Perception +13

DEFENSE: AC 17, touch 10, flat-footed 17 (+0 Dex, +7 natural); hp 60 (7d10+21); Fort +8, Ref +5, Will +5

OFFENSE: Speed 20 ft.; Melee tongue +11 (2d6+4/19-20,x3) , tail +6 (1d8+4);

Space 5 ft.; Reach 15 ft. (tail only); Special Attacks Constrict (2d6+4), Trip (tail), Grab (tail)

STATISTICS: Str 19, Dex 10, Con 16, Int 2, Wis 16, Cha 10; Base Atk +7; CMB +11 (+19 grapple, +13 trip); CMD 21 (23 against trip); Feats Greater Grapple, Improved Critical (tongue), Improved Grapple, Improved Natural Attack (tongue), Improved Trip, Lunge; Skills Perception +13; Special Qualities Magical Beast Traits

SPECIAL ABILITIES:

Constrict (Ex): A Long-tailed Stabbybird can crush an opponent, dealing 2d6+4 bludgeoning damage, when it makes a successful grapple check (in addition to any other effects caused by a successful check, including additional damage).

Trip (Ex): A Long-tailed Stabbybird can attempt to trip its opponent as a free action without provoking an attack of opportunity if it hits with its tail attack(s). If the attempt fails, the creature is not tripped in return.

Grab (Ex): If a Long-tailed Stabbybird hits with its tail attack(s), it deals normal damage and attempts to start a grapple as a free action without provoking an attack of opportunity. Grab can only be used against targets of a size Large or smaller.

The stabbybird doesn’t use its legs unless necessary, preferring to lunge and stab with its tongue while trying to entangle & crush opponents with its long, prehensile tail. It will flee if it’s clear it’s losing the fight; it’s large enough to push the doors open if the PCs haven’t specifically taken measures to keep it from doing so. If the stabbybird is defeated or driven off and the south wall investigated, PCs may find that the crevices between the stones have been chipped away and widened. It is possible, if PCs either employ diplomacy or try to remove one of the stones from the wall, to find out what’s back there.

Behind the wall is a colony of burrowing elvets. They’re about the size of a thumb, covered in gray fur, and humanoid other than their bifurcate feet. The colony contains a few dozen of them. These aren’t creations of the wizards — like the unicorn in Room 1.5, they’re extraplanar beings that were originally brought here for study. Unlike the unicorn, they escaped. They’ve built a network of burrows behind this wall, and have been living here ever since. (They’re longer-lived than humans, but it’s still been a few generations.) They’re not exactly thrilled with their circumstances, as they have to live by scavenging and avoiding the various beaſts. (The Caretakers don’t recognize them as Things To Feed.) If the PCs can figure out a better situation for them, they might go along with it and even owe them a favor. Stats for these guys are below. Note that the alignment is listed as “LB” — this is how I handle the fae. Their morality system is somewhat alien to human perception, so, inspired by TVTropes’s “Blue-and-Orange Morality”, I list them as “Lawful Blue”. (If you’re wondering, eldritch abominations are “Chaotic Orange”.)

Burrowing Elvet: CR 1, XP 400; LB Fine Fey; Init +3; Senses Low-Light Vision; Perception +1

DEFENSE: AC 21, touch 21, flat-footed 18 (+8 size, +3 Dex); hp 3 (2d6-4); Saves Fort -2, Ref +6, Will +4

OFFENSE: Speed 5 ft., climb 5 ft., burrow 5 ft.;  Melee dagger +5 (1d1-4/19-20,x2); Space 0 ft.; Reach 0 ft.; Spell-Like Abilities: At Will: Hide from Animals, Pass without Trace

STATISTICS: Str 2, Dex 16, Con 6, Int 10, Wis 12, Cha 12; Base Atk +1; CMB -11; CMD 2; Feats Stealthy; Skills Diplomacy +6, Escape Artist +10, Handle Animal +3, Stealth +10, Survival +3, Use Magic Device +6; Languages Sylvan; Special Qualities Fey Traits

Room 1.10: f.17v

This is a large room, high-ceilinged (let’s say 50ft again) with a single door on the west wall.

There is no stone floor here — it’s open earth in which more Squirrel Oaks are growing, with oak squirrels inhabiting them. (Also various weeds have colonized the ground — feel free to add a few with medical use or other value if your players might be interested in that.) This room is something of an indoor grove, with more-or-less-normal animals inhabiting it. The animals were originally brought in as lab animals, food, or material for hybrid creation — or possibly found their way in from outside — but have since multiplied and run wild. 

There is a burrow beneath one of the oaks that contains a colony of rabbits, and a dog seems to have taken up residence in this room. The dog enjoys chasing the rabbits and squirrels. The rabbits are entirely normal, but if the PCs have any way of checking, there’s something a little magical about the dog. (If the conversation with Orm goes well, the PCs might be aware that Orm is fond of this dog and calls him Rover. If I were going back and editing previous entries, I’d add a percentage chance that Rover is present in Orm’s “hermitage”, Room 1.4.) Rover  is actually a descendant of one of the most benign experiments the wizards conducted, i.e., the Immortal Dog Project. (Even probably-evil wizards like dogs and lament their comparatively short lifespans.) Any dogs still inhabiting the dungeon are likewise descended from this experiment, which didn’t successfully make them immortal, but they do live for something like a hundred years. Some of these dogs have made their way to the outside world and interbred with their non-magical cousins, but probably not many people have noticed that some of Ller Tul’s strays seem to live an unusually long time. Rover in particular is of no identifiable breed, but is about the size of a small terrier.

There is also a flock of entirely normal birds, and a flight of less-normal giant butterflies. The butterflies (black with white spots and red stripes) are only different from their mundane counterparts in that they have a wingspan of something like a foot and a half. The birds (black-feathered, blue wings, utterly mundane) apparently eat them.

Appendix A wants me to put some treasure in this room, so: an extremely careful search will reveal a spot in the southwest corner where the soil is heaped a little higher than usual, though still overgrown with plant life. Digging in this location will reveal a few pottery jars filled with assorted coins — these are not original to the dungeon, but were stashed here by earlier explorers who didn’t want to lug them around and intended to come back for them on the way out. Judging by the plant growth over top of them, whoever put them here isn’t likely to come back at this point.

Room 1.11: f.18r

Appendix A thinks there should be a trap around here somewhere, and I’ve decided to put it on the door to this room rather than in the nearby passage it suggested. If the door is opened without the trap being disabled, the trap will summon several dragonflies to attack the opener. They’re just regular dragonflies, though, so this isn’t much of a threat. Gods only know why this trap is even here. If the trap is identified before the door is opened, examination shows that it only goes off if you don’t knock first.

This room was apparently a latrine at one point; or at least that’s the most obvious explanation for the big hole in the floor in the northwest corner. A fountain of some sort occupies the northeast corner, and seems to be still running, if not very well. (Note: there is a sort of plumbing system that connects all of the dungeon's water features together; a really dedicated (and very small) individual could probably travel around the dungeon that way.)

The fountain contains a few eel wyverns, which are pretty much what they sound like. They’re colorful, coming in shades of red and blue, but unlike their kin the toy wyvern from Room 1.2, aren’t considered particularly decorative (and haven’t been attested outside of this dungeon). Wyvern only in the roughest of outlines, these creatures are scaleless, legless, snub-nosed, and about the length of a human forearm. Eel wyverns can fly — their wings repel water like a duck’s — but it’s a clumsy sort of flight, and they spend most of their time in water by preference. They’re not aggressive if not provoked, but just in case, here are some stats. They’re still pretty harmless, aside from being venomous.

Eel Wyvern: CR 1, XP 400; N Diminutive Dragon (aquatic); Init +3; Senses Low-Light Vision, Darkvision 60ft; Perception +5

DEFENSE: AC 17, touch 17, flat-footed 14 (+4 size, +3 Dex); hp 16 (2d12+3); Saves Fort +3, Ref +6, Will +3; +4 vs. poison

OFFENSE: Speed 10 ft., swim 10 ft., fly 10 ft.; Melee bite +3 (1d2-3 plus poison); Space 2-1/2 ft.; Reach 2-1/2 ft.; Special Attacks Poison, Amphibious

STATISTICS: Str 4, Dex 16, Con 9, Int 4, Wis 10, Cha 4; Base Atk +2; CMB -5; CMD 8; Feats Toughness; Skills Fly +8, Perception +5, Stealth +8; Special Qualities Dragon Traits

SPECIAL ABILITIES:

Poison (Ex): An Eel Wyvern's bite attack will inflict a poison on its victims that has a Fortitude save DC of 11, a frequency of 1/round for 6 rounds, causes 1d2 Con damage, and takes two saves to cure.

Amphibious (Ex):  An Eel Wyvern has the aquatic subtype, but they can survive indefinitely on land.

I had moved on to the next room when it occurred to me that some players are going to want to search the latrine. Figuring I should put something there for those troubled souls, I considered what this abandoned latrine would be like. It’s not going to still be full of waste — the kind of people who made magical constructs to clean up after the animals would surely have those same constructs empty the latrines — so there should be something else. So: the original wooden seat having fallen apart, the latrine is currently just a hole in the floor that, theoretically, someone could fit through. It’s, let’s say, 30ft deep — if you’re a wizard making a latrine, you might go a little overboard in getting the waste as far away from you as possible, and the Caretakers can empty it with telekinesis, so there’s no downside in making it deep. It’s not designed for someone to go down there, so anyone investigating will need to make Climb checks or fall.

Down at the bottom is a chamber roughly 10ft across. Over to the side, out of sight of anyone looking down from the top, is a skeleton. This poor fellow — let’s name him Ralph — was an explorer much like the PCs, who decided to investigate the latrine, fell in, and wasn’t able to get back out (either he died from the fall or he’s just not a good enough climber). Give him some randomly-generated gear appropriate for the PCs’ level. A lot of it will have decayed — and anything metal has probably been telekinetically retrieved by Caretaker One to feed the fish in Room 1.7 — but there should be a non-metal magic item or two that has preserved itself against time to reward the PCs for checking such a ridiculous place. And maybe some precious stones or somesuch.

Room 1.12: f.18v

This room is dominated by a 20ft-diameter circular basin set into the center of the floor. It seems to be at least 30ft deep — probably deeper, but the bottom is covered in a thick layer of silt and plant matter. The stone walls have a lot of built-in shelves, counters, and compartments that probably used to be covered with cabinet doors. (This used to be a lab for experimenting with aquatic creatures.)

Right now, the inhabitants of the basin / tank / aquarium / whatever are some more eel wyverns (see Room 1.11), a school of entirely ordinary green fish, and a number of small flying insects. Not counting the plant matter and whatever tiny critters live in the silt at the bottom. 

This room is also occupied by a few giant rats — dungeon classic, that. One of them seems to be trying to catch the fish. 

A few bluebirds are hanging out on the shelves and ex-cabinets near the ceiling, keeping out of the rats’ way.

Room 1.13: f.19r

Much of the northern portion of this room is taken up by an artificial pond.

Appendix A thinks there should be a monster here, so this room contains a few very aggressive and territorial geese. Mundane geese, just angry ones. Not that that’s hugely out of the ordinary for geese. For extra fun, you may decide that one or more of these geese are actually the Horrible Goose. (Link goes to a post by @prokopetz; I believe there are other posts on putting the Horrible Goose in D&D as well, but this is the one that sticks in my head because I like how it describes the goose as having "limited ontological inertia".)

Room 1.14: f.19v

This is more of an unusual spot in the passageway than a proper room — a 10ft-by-20ft area off of the passage is an overgrown space that was probably once an herb garden of some sort. 

The area that used to be a garden is currently home to some mundane snails, hedgehogs, and mice. The hedgehogs are exceptionally adorable.

If the PCs haven’t already encountered it — I’m planning to put it on the random encounter table for this level — this is where they find the spotted boar. The spotted boar has the same stats as a mundane boar; its only unusual feature is its dramatically spotted pattern. This might be the result of magic, but might also just be from selective breeding — there are spotted pigs, after all. It is a foul-tempered beaſt and should be given a wide berth.

And that’s Week Two done. Having a lot of fun with this, but still struggling to keep the word count under control. See y’all next time, I guess.

[littlemisslol-fic]

Summary: Two years after the events of Barviel Keep, Varian has tried to adapt to the expectations brought by being a King’s Ward, with mixed results. Haunted by ghosts, Varian is forced to face the demons he tried to leave behind in Bayangor when his abdication is forcibly stopped by a third party, out for revenge against the Bayan Royal bloodline. On the run, with few allies left to turn to, Varian finds himself chasing a ghost through a series of tests that only a true heir of Demanitus could ever hope to pass.But the shadows are ever present, looming and dark, and not everything is as simple as it might seem.

Notes: Big finale time! Part one of a two-part ending!

They’d taken the Der Sonne. Rapunzel scowled at the warship, the thing looming over the horizon. It made her sick to think of her father’s flagship, the crowning jewel of the Coronian navy, stolen and used by their enemies. She couldn’t keep the scowl off her face as she sailed the Oracle closer to the massive stern side of the ship; their little boat was dwarfed by the Der Sonne in a way that was almost comical.

The early hour ended up being their biggest advantage. Eugene had doused all the lights on board the second they’d taken sail, the Oracle becoming a smudge of ink against navy sky. It would be difficult to see them coming from the deck of the massive warship, made even worse by the storm beginning to brew above.

Rapunzel shuddered in the harsh wind, her short hair flying in the cold breeze. Eugene stood to her left, his face set in a grim mask as they got closer. Ruddiger was curled around his shoulders, the raccoon looking glum; without his human, the animal had quickly lost his spark.

The Der Sonne looked like a looming beast, ready to devour them if they got too close; Rapunzel scowled and turned the wheel gently, bringing them as close to the warship as they dared. The waves were rough. If they moored too close the Oracle would get slammed against the Der Sonne and surely torn to shreds.

“He’ll probably be in the brig,” Eugene murmured. “I can’t see them keeping him anywhere else, not if they want him to actually stay there.”

Rapunzel sighed, remembering Corona’s inability to keep Varian in a cell in their own dungeons, or the boy’s stories of escape attempts from Barviel Keep. As much as she didn’t like to think about it, Varian had proven hard to keep a hold of, no matter who was the one trying to keep him in.

“He’s got a knack for it,” she admitted. “But we’ll be there if he needs backup.”

Eugene looked troubled, looking up at the massive ship. They were in her shadow, covered by darkness. It made Rapunzel nervous, to be so out in the open with enemies so close. If she strained, she could hear Merrick and his men hooting and hollering on the deck high above.

“Do you think he’s okay?” she asked. She wasn’t sure if she was looking for an honest answer or pleasant placations; she wasn’t sure which would be better. Eugene didn’t seem to be in the mood to lie.

“When we find him,” he said, “We’ll have to be ready for the worst.”

“What do you mean?” Rapunzel asked. She felt a tendril of dread curl around her heart. What did he mean? That wasn’t what she needed to hear right now--

“I mean, we don’t know what state he’ll be in,” Eugene admitted. “Merrick needs him alive, sure, but we’ve seen what the guy can do. Just… be ready. It might not be pretty.”

“He’s going to be fine,” Rapunzel said firmly. “He just needs m— us. Needs us. We need to get him out of here.”

Eugene seemed to have caught her slip, his face souring slightly. “What he needs, is for us to trust him.”

“I do!”

“Do you?”

Rapunzel paused. Did she?

“Of course I do.” The fib tasted bitter. “I just want what’s best for him.”

“And if that’s what’s not what you think it is?”

Rapunzel blinked, confused. “Where is this coming from? Of course I know—”

“He still wants to leave, after this.” It felt like a punch to the gut, but Eugene didn’t seem to care. “And I think we should let him.”

“What? We can’t… he’ll get hurt, out there!”

“But it’s what he wants.”

“He doesn’t know what he wants.” Rapunzel’s grip on the steering wheel got tighter. “He’s emotional, right now, and he needs to be somewhere we can keep him safe.”

“Isn’t that what Gothel always told you?” Eugene’s face wasn’t angry, but for how much his words cut Rapunzel, he might as well have been. How could he say that? It was different; she wasn’t sure how, but it was. Eugene seemed to have seen something play across her face. He started to backtrack.

“Sunshine, you need to—”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

Eugene blinked, taken aback. The guilty feeling nagging at Rapunzel’s thoughts only got worse when she saw his reaction, but she couldn’t help it. She needed Varian to be somewhere safe, somewhere she could keep an eye on him. It was rude of her to shut down Eugene like that, and she knew it, but she couldn’t deal with this right now. Not with the mounting danger.

“Rapunzel.” She turned to look at Eugene, who wouldn’t meet her eye. “Do you want him safe for him, or do you want him safe for you?”

The princess reeled, shaking her head. She opened her mouth to argue more, only for her husband to cut her off with a gentle movement.

“You need to trust him,” the man said. “Or at least give him more credit. Varian’s a smart kid, and he’s stronger than you think. We have to let him spread his wings eventually.”

With that, hopped down from the steering platform of the Oracle, not giving her time to reply. Rapunzel stewed as Eugene crept close to the gap between the ships, poking at a closed window on the side of the Der Sonne. He was talking nonsense; Eugene must have been chatting with Varian and swayed onto the teenager’s side. Varian could be very convincing, when he wanted to be, and obviously Eugene had been tricked into following the boy’s terrible idea. She sighed, pinching at her nose.

Eugene didn’t seem to pick up on his wife’s mood, working at the lock. Within seconds he had the porthole open, the small circle big enough for them to shimmy through. Eugene gently plucked Ruddiger from his shoulders, putting the critter down on a nearby crate.

“Best you stay here, bud,” he told the sleepy animal. “This is one adventure you might want to sit out.”

Ruddiger didn’t seem to want to argue, instead opting to roll over and curling up in a miserable ball of fur. Eugene frowned, giving the raccoon one more scratch behind the ears.

Rapunzel hopped down as well, not meeting her husband’s eye. Something in her felt defensive; she was right to want her brother safe, she didn’t understand why Eugene was suddenly against her on this. Varian was a given, he’d never been one to be ordered around, but she’d expected her husband to side with her. He wanted to protect Varian just as much as she did, she knew it, so why—

“We should get in there,” Eugene said, jabbing a thumb at the open window. “We don’t have much time before the sun comes up; they’ll see the Oracle.”

“Right.” Rapunzel smoothed out the folds of her dress. Priorities. “Right, of course.”

She braced herself on the porthole, stepping up and carefully maneuvering herself aboard the Der Sonne. The princess took a deep breath. They had to find Varian. She turned, helping Eugene through with a steady hand. Rapunzel tucked away the feelings of guilt, the creeping wrongness that had begun to take over her thoughts, and elected to ignore them.

They could deal with the rest later.

>>><<<

Varian found himself pacing. He felt like a caged animal, the iron bars of the brig taunting him. It was claustrophobic, the walls pressing in on him from all directions. He had to get out of the brig— had to track down that staff, had to get back to his friends, had to see if they were…

Well.

He had a hell of a to-do list, to say the least. Varian grit his teeth. One thing at a time. The Staff still had to be on board, there was no way that Merrick would let it out of his sight. Varian still wasn’t entirely sure what it did— but that didn’t really matter. If Merrick wanted it, was willing to go to such extremes to get it, then it stood to reason that the best thing to do would be to steal it back before the mage could do too much damage with it.

Varian couldn’t help but feel responsible. He was the idiot who’d been tricked, he was the one who’d been forced into opening the coffin with almost hilarious ease. It wasn’t entirely his fault— but he knew he was smarter than this. He’d been so caught up in the possibility of finding Aisha, of seeing her… he’d left any sense of logic behind. Eugene had seen it, so had Rapunzel. Varian hadn’t, and obviously that had gone fantastic for him.

Varian cast a wry glance over to the cell door, a bitter taste thick in his mouth at the sight of it. Step one was to get loose again; he’d blown his first shot, but Varian knew he was nothing if not a crafty little shit. He’d find a way out if he had to. Then the Staff. Then his family. Then, hopefully, a nap. He’d been awake since early yesterday morning, and it was certainly starting to wear at him. His everything was hurting by this point, from the top of his head down to his aching, bruised feet. The alchemist sighed, kicking idly at the floorboards under him.

“What to do,” he mumbled to himself. “C’mon genius, think.”

The darkness was starting to leak away, he could see through a window on the far side of the brig. He hadn’t noticed it before, it being so late that the porthole might as well have been another part of the wall— but in the early hour, he could see the beginnings of a dull grey sky. The sun would be up soon. Hopefully with more light to work with, he could figure something out.

Varian let himself pace again, the three-meter square cell not offering much else. He needed a plan. The Staff would be near wherever Merrick was; it would be tricky to grab it without getting spotted. He might have to make a detour, see if he can’t knock out one of the Bayans and steal their uniform to be able to move around the ship without drawing attention.

The boy looked down at himself, sighing. Quirin’s cloak was nearly in tatters, covered in cobwebs and dirt and dust. His formal clothes, long since rumpled and ruined in a way that would make Nigel pop a blood vessel, were almost grey instead of the blue they’d started as. Frederic and Arianna had only packed them one change of clothes each; Varian regretted swapping back to the formal wear on the Oracle the day before. He hadn’t expected to be grave robbing and getting kidnapped (again) or he would have worn something easier to run in.

Varian knew he stuck out like a sore thumb. If— when— he got out, he’d need to change. Which meant incapacitating a soldier or finding a spare uniform. He grimaced. That could be dealt with after he got out. He was thinking too far ahead.

The door at the end of the cell block started to rattle.

Varian nearly jumped out of his skin, the boy backing up and pressing his back against the wall. Gods did he wish for anything to defend himself with. A sword, a knife, hell, he’d even take a fire poker at this point. The wooden planks of the wall dug into his spine, pressing into his skin like a thousand descending hands. He shuddered, focusing as the door cracked open.

Lamplight streamed into the brig. Varian winced at the sudden change, pain spiking through his aching head; he threw a hand up to cover his eyes from the bright light. He slammed his eyes shut, trying to block it out and calm the pounding headache. Thus, the voice that rang through the brig took him by total surprise.

“Varian?”

“Rapunzel?!”

Blue eyes snapped open in shock, blinking away the spots and catching sight of a blur of purple standing at the end of the hall.

“Varian!” Rapunzel sprinted toward his cell, her hands wrapping around the iron bars in an almost manic frenzy. “Thank the Sun, are you okay?”

“Been better,” he said, truthfully. The bruise on his cheek stung something horrible, now that he was talking. Varian blinked as Eugene appeared behind the princess, lock pick already at the ready.

“Hey kid,” he greeted, “Good to see you.”

Varian huffed his way through a laugh, stepping back as Eugene cracked the door open. “I think that’s a new record,” the boy said, nodding toward the lock. “You’re getting too good at breaking out of jail cells.”

“Eh, I’m a man of many talents,” Eugene shrugged. When Varian stepped out of the cell, the man tilted his head and pointed to his cheek. “Ouch, goggles,” he said. “That’s a hell of a shiner.”

“A shin— Varian!” Rapunzel gasped as she saw what was probably a developing bruise. Varian winced when she grabbed at his face, forcing him to look to the side as she inspected the injury. It stung, her fingers poking and prodding. “What happened?” Her voice was hoarse, like she’d been yelling. It plucked at Varian's already frayed nerves, especially considering the situation they’d been separated in.

“I’m fine,” he said, firmly pushing at her hands until she let him go. He took a step back, nearly back into the cell in an attempt for space. “I’m fine,” he repeated when her face soured. “I’ve had worse. I pushed too far and Merrick—”

“He’s dead,” she spat, not waiting for him to even finish. The phrasing shocked Varian; he hadn’t thought she had it in her. He noticed how the grip on her frying pan was snow white. “He’s done enough damage for today. We need to get out of here, get you somewhere safe—”

Varian blinked, taken by surprise when she reached over and grabbed his wrist, starting to tug him behind her.

“Wait—” he started to say, only to lose his voice with a harder pull. “Wa—”

“Uh, sunshine,” Eugene’s voice was nearly lost behind them. “I think Varian’s trying to say something.”

“We’ll get back to the ship,” Rapunzel muttered, probably not even noticing she was speaking out loud. “We’ll sail back home if we have to, back to where it’s safe, we just have to get to the boat.”

“Rapunzel!” Varian snapped, yanking his hand from her grip. She whirled around, stunned. Her green eyes were blown wide, her mouth slightly open. Varian huffed, nervously smoothing out non-existent creases in his cloak. “I can’t go yet,” he admitted. He almost backed off when her face darkened. Almost.

“The Staff,” is all he said in explanation. “We can’t leave it here, not with Merrick. Whatever he wants it for, it can’t be good.”

Rapunzel looked like she was going to be sick. “Okay,” she nodded, a surprise. “But you go back to the Oracle, Eugene and I will get it.” There it was.

“Splitting up isn’t exactly a good idea,” Eugene cut in, bless his heart. “If all three of us are looking, we can find it faster.”

Rapunzel’s face seemed to twitch, but it was obvious she knew she wasn’t winning this. Her face flittered through multiple expressions—anger, sadness, frustration, until finally, resignation—but when neither Varian nor Eugene backed down she bit the inside of her cheek. She nodded, rough and jerky.

“We’ll be quick,” Varian tried to placate her, “Just a little detour.”

She sucked in a long breath through her nose. Varian winced, instinctively rubbing at his wrists. Gods his arm smarted, too, the stitches Eugene had made only days before had definitely torn a bit. Something in him demanded he keep his distance, trying for space even if she refused to give it. He wanted to wilt, to shrink away, and it took a very conscious effort to keep himself from fully retreating. Rapunzel shook her head at long last, letting the breath out as a long sigh.

“Just promise me you’ll stay close,” she finally sighed. Rapunzel turned to Eugene, overlooking Varian. “Where do we start?”

Eugene blinked, obviously befuddled. It was obvious that he had no idea, though it wasn’t like any of them really did.

“It’s got to be around here somewhere,” Varian said, his hands idly twisting together as he thought. “Wherever Merrick is, that’s where it would be.”

“We heard him,” Eugene cut in, “Outside. I think he was on the deck. I’m not sure if he’s still out there, not with the storm.”

“It’s still a good spot to check.” Varian nodded, gently worming past his sister and starting for the door. They had to be running out of time before Merrick sent someone to check on him. Varian’s cheek stung at the reminder. He heard gentle footfalls behind him. His friends, following closely. It was a balm to his anxious heart, having his family together again. Varian felt something almost like confidence at the sound. His friends were here, they could do this, together.

Hopefully.

>>><<<

The storm was getting worse.

The Der Sonne rocked back and forth in the pounding surf; if Varian didn’t have a stomach of steel from a lifetime of being his own crash test dummy, he’d certainly be sick. It was rhythmic, like a countdown. A stopwatch.

Tick, tick.

There was a thrumming energy in the ship. Eugene and Rapunzel hadn’t seemed to pick up on it, as they moved through the underbelly of the warship, but Varian could feel it. Like a fishhook in his stomach, it pulled at him impatiently, luring him toward whatever was on the other side. It was the same feeling he’d had when he’d held the Novis Staff, that connection. Varian had never been one for magic… but he was willing to bet that this was something more arcane in nature.

A crack of lightning lit up from outside; the row of portholes on the side of the hall they were sneaking through cast bright circles of white light across the corridor in front of them for only a second, before it was snuffed out. Almost immediately after, a crack of thunder rattled through the air. Varian felt it deep in his chest, the gunshot rumble echoing in his ear long after the noise had ended. The Der Sonne gave another sickening lurch— rougher now.

The storm was growing more violent.

Varian paused when they reached a final staircase. They needed to get up there, the tugging in his chest was only getting stronger the closer to the deck they got— but something in him hesitated. They hadn’t seen any of the Bayans, not a one since they left the brig. It felt too easy. Much too easy for one of their adventures, at least. The last time things had gone this well, Varian had ended up with a snake growing out of his head. Nah, this was suspicious.

And he wasn’t about to get caught in another blindside.

“Is this the only way to the deck?” he asked, looking at Eugene. If anyone was going to hopefully know the layout of a navy ship, it would be the captain of the guard. Eugene blinked, thinking, before nodding his head.

“It is,” he answered, “Unless you want to climb over the side.”

Bad idea. They’d probably get tossed into the sea. Varian winced at the thought, the sound of roaring waves unmissable outside, pounding surf and shrieking winds spelling certain death for anyone who was in the water.

“Alright,” he sighed. “I don’t suppose you guys managed to grab any alchemy supplies on the way in?”

Rapunzel shook her head. “We’ll just have to be sneaky,” she said, as if it were that simple.

Even Eugene winced, tapping his foot. “There can’t be too many left,” he mused. “I only counted ten on the deck when we were getting close, plus the twenty that—” he looked down, as if suddenly remembering that Varian was right in front of him. “That were in the tomb and didn’t do so well.”

Varian couldn’t help but feel a little shocked, extrapolating why Eugene had cut himself off. “So… only ten?” he asked, trying to smooth over the sudden awkward silence that had taken hold of Eugene’s tongue. The man nodded.

“Only ten. Plus metal-arm.”

Not great odds.

But they’d faced worse. Ten versus one wasn’t impossible, but it would definitely be a difficult morning to say the least. Their numbers were low—at least they had a shot.

Another crack of lightning illuminated the ship. The rolling thunder was louder still, enough that the glass inserts on the portholes began to rattle. Varian sucked in air through his teeth— they weren’t getting any younger, here, and they had to make a move. He moved up the first step, ready to just get this over with, when he was stopped by a hand that nearly dwarfed his own.

Eugene looked nervous, and rightly so. Varian tilted his head in silent question, arching a brow when the man tugged his knife and scabbard from his belt.

“Here,” he said, “Just in case.”

It was the same blade Varian had used to cut his hand to get into Geldam’s tomb. “Are you sure?” he asked, holding it gently. It was one of Edmund’s, he knew. It wasn’t something Eugene would just give away, let alone in a scenario where he might not get it back. Was he sure?

“Sure,” Eugene shrugged, like it didn’t mean anything. “Better safe than sorry.”

“Are you sure that’s—” Rapunzel started.

“Yep,” Eugene said, flatly. The princess pouted a little bit, obviously unhappy at being outvoted. Eugene didn’t seem to want to budge. At least someone was willing to let Varian take care of himself.

Varian decided to bite his tongue, opting instead to clip the knife’s cover to his own belt, letting it rest. It wouldn’t do much in a fight but having it still did wonders for soothing Varian’s frayed nerves. At least he could maybe stab someone before they all got murdered. The alchemist turned from his friends, continuing up the stairs and up to a massive door that stood at the very top.

With a deep breath he cracked it open, peering out onto the deck. He was immediately greeted with a face full of rain and seawater, forcing him to close his eyes with a splutter. Varian nearly let the door slam but caught it at the last second with frantic hands. He rubbed the water from his face, holding tight to the doorknob to keep the oak door from flying open in the harsh winds.

He took another, more cautious, look outside, grimacing at what he saw.

The Bayans had indeed congregated on the deck of the Der Sonne. Varian counted nine, though he knew number ten could be running around elsewhere. On the very end of the ship, near the bow, stood Merrick, his coat flaring out in the wind, an ink stain on grey canvas. Varian grimaced at the flash of silver in his hand.

Bingo.

“How’s it looking, goggles?” Eugene whispered, inching up behind Varian and peeking over his head. The teenager grimaced, looking back to his friends.

“Good news or bad news?” he asked them.

“Good news,” Rapunzel said, at the exact same time Eugene said, “Bad news.”

Varian snorted. “Good news is I found the Staff. Bad news is I also found Merrick.”

Both of them winced; Rapunzel looked like she’d eaten a lemon. Varian looked back to their enemy, watching as Merrick fiddled with the Staff. The mage seemed confused, a fact that was only highlighted when Merrick began to gently smack the Staff off the railing of the ship. Varian could hear the angry ting of silver on copper from their vantage point and winced.

“I don’t think he knows how to use it,” the boy mused. They might have a chance, after all.

“That’s good,” Eugene said, nodding.

“But it’s also only a matter of time before he figures it out.” Varian said, pointedly. Eugene paused.

“That’s bad.”

The boy nodded, wincing when Merrick threw the Staff in the air, flipping it and catching it with a flourish. The Bayans clapped, laughing. Varian rolled his eyes with a scoff. Drama queens, all of them. Almost bad as everyone back home.

Eugene was still looking over his shoulder, Rapunzel behind him. “Alright, what’s the plan?” he asked.

Varian bit the inside of his cheek. “Get the staff, and go home,” he said flatly. When both adults shot him a look, he pouted. “I’m making this up as I go along!”

Eugene sighed. “If the two of you can hold off the grunts, I can make a break for our friend over there. I’ll grab the stick, we jump off the back, and swim for the Oracle. Then, we get the hell out of dodge.”

Rapunzel and Varian both nodded in tandem. “Leave it to us,” she said. Varian could see she already had her pan out and ready. He tapped his fingers on the doorknob, looking around one final time. He didn’t see much in the way of weapons, but that didn’t make them any less of a threat.

The Der Sonne gave another sickening roll. None of the Bayans seemed to notice, too caught up in their leader’s little show to care. If there was a time to strike, it was—

“Now!” he yelled, throwing the door open and making a run for it. He heard Rapunzel and Eugene moving behind him, but his focus was entirely on the crew in front. Ten total, five for him and five for Rapunzel. All of them had jumped when he yelled, which was exactly the point; if they were surprised, they’d react slower.

Rapunzel let out a fierce cry, her pan swinging in a wide arc and slamming into the stomach of one of the soldiers. They went down with a grunt, wheezing as they clung to their abused torso. They didn’t move again, curling up on the deck. Varian winced, remembering a time he’d gotten the wrong end of that pan, but quickly added to his mental tally.

Nine to go.

Varian managed to weave around grasping hands, content to play bait. He was easily faster than them, his lack of armor and smaller size making it easy to avoid them as he danced away. The boy caught sight of Eugene trying to get to Merrick, but his way was blocked by two more soldiers. His sword flashed as the man parried their attacks, a streak of silver against the dark wood of the Der Sonne.

Rapunzel had taken care of three more, while they’d been busy, meaning—

Six left. They could do this.

Varian swerved away from another solider, a woman with dark red hair, and ducked down, sliding under her grabbing hands, and popping up behind her. With a cracking cry he turned, bringing up a foot and managing to kick her in the back, right in the center of the spine. She yelped, thrown off balance and toppling forward. She fell over a set of crates that had been on deck, her yelling cut short when her head slammed against one of the corners.

“Sorry!” Varian winced, “Sorry, sorry, sorry—”

Five.

He was startled by another shout, this one from Rapunzel. She was fighting against a larger man, the brute holding a massive hammer. She cried out as he swung at her. Varian saw red, his feet moving before he could even think; with a screech he ran clean across the deck, jumping onto the unaware man’s back and wrapping spindly arms around his neck.

“Varian!” Rapunzel shouted. He couldn’t really hear her, however, as the large man began to swing around, lifting tree trunk sized arms back to try and grab the boy latched onto him. Varian held tight, but gods he was going to be sick from the spinning— he dug his grip in harder, trying to choke the man unsuccessfully.

“Get off you little shit!” the man screamed, trying and failing to get a hold of Varian.

They flipped around once more before Rapunzel finally managed to get an in. With a great crack she brought her pan down on the man’s skull. Varian felt the way he shook on the impact, the man dropping to the deck. The alchemist only just managed to let go, letting the man fall. The boy huffed for breath, shaking out his aching arms. That had been… unorthodox, but effective. Interesting. He looked across the deck again, taking a head count.

Four left. He nearly laughed, relieved, but suddenly was confronted with a face full of angry princess.

“Varian, what are you doing?” Rapunzel demanded, “You could have been hurt— that was reckless!”

He felt a drop of anger at her tone. “I was saving you!” he snapped, “You could say thanks, you know?!”

She threw her hands up, frustrated, but before she could inevitably start to tear into him again there was a massive cracking noise of broken air. A shock wave pulsed across the deck of the ship, sending them all falling over. Varian landed roughly on the wooden slats, instinctively covering his head. He heard Rapunzel scream, and peeked over his arms to see her flip ass over teakettle across the polished surface. Anything not nailed down, people included, were tossed around like children’s toys, some of them nearly taking the plunge into the inky depths of the ocean below.

Varian winced, looking frantically toward the bow of the Der Sonne. Merrick stood there, openly laughing as he held the Novis Staff above his head. The crystal shone a bright orange, sending out rhythmic pulses of light into the sky above. The storm, violent before, picked up in intensity, rattling the very bones in Varian’s chest. He gripped onto the slick deck, trying to keep himself still as another pulse of energy flew from the staff. The wind tousled his hair, sending it into Varian’s face and slapping him with the rain. Varian winced, peering through the storm with watery eyes to catch sight of his enemy.

Merrick looked plenty pleased with himself, waving the Staff in triumph. “Uh oh,” he shouted over the wind, a fake whine in his voice. “Guess I was able to figure it out without you, huh?!”

Varian scowled. Enough was enough— he was putting a stop to this. He pushed himself to his feet, aching arms shaking under the effort; his left hand felt slick in his glove…. Ah. The stitches on his arm had given up the ghost at last. His sleeve was stained a bright red, the fresh blood mixing with rain and seawater. Quirin’s cloak was a mess, the red staining the fabric and turning ashy blue a deep maroon.

Varian tried to steady himself, only to be thrown to the side by a particularly rough wave hitting the Der Sonne at the side. He heard the others, Bayan and Coronian alike, scream as they were tossed. He hit the deck once more, pain from the jagged cut in his arm lacing up his nerves. Varian grunted, blinking away salt and sea; he focused on Merrick, who stood tall and proud at the bow of the ship as if he didn’t even notice the rolling waves.

There was a bright flash of light, flickering for just a second. Varian screamed as his eyes slammed shut, the intensity of the glow making his eyes burn. Immediately after was a massive boom of thunder, along with a cracking sound of snapping wood, like breaking bone. He blinked away the spots, catching the last vestiges of the mast bursting into a thousand pieces.

He yelped, rolling out of the way of a massive chunk of wood that fell to the deck. The others did the same, various screams filling the air as the mast of the Der Sonne exploded into flaming, pointy shrapnel. The lightning had been quick, like a burst of bright sunlight, but the thunder had nearly popped his ears. The rolling noise of it rang in Varian’s skull and made all other sound muffled.

The ship below them began to rumble. Varian could feel it with how his spine was pressed to the deck. His teeth chattered in his mouth, rattling in his skull; the mast of the Der Sonne had crumbled, spewing flaming shrapnel across the entire deck. The alchemist could see a massive, charred hole left in its wake, punching down to the very heart of the ship. The rumbling was getting worse, coming from where the mast had once stood. If Varian listened closely, he swore he could hear…

Water.

Lots of water, rushing into the belly of the ship.

Wonderful.

Varian pushed himself up again. It seemed he’d been forgotten, in the chaos. Eugene somehow still standing, was caught up in fighting the last of the Bayan forces. Rapunzel was getting to her feet behind Varian. The Der Sonne was properly on fire now, and from the sounds of it, flooding. The ship was certainly going down.

But Varian himself had a clear shot to Merrick.

And to the Staff.

He was moving before he could think, rolling to his feet and stumbling with the creaking of the floorboards. Varian grit his teeth. He could end this, he had to end this; he may have hated his family history, but that didn’t make burying his head in the sand an option. He’d unburied all of those festering emotions at long last, the ones he’d buried and left to rot at the behest of everyone around him— but enough was enough.

He was done running.

A thin hand caught his wrist before he could make a break for it, holding him back, like a shackle. He turned, blue eyes meeting devastated green. The world around them seemed to slow, everything pausing.

“Don’t,” Rapunzel pleaded with him. Her face was tear soaked and pale. “Please, let me protect you.”

Varian’s world narrowed down to where her hand was on his skin. He stared at her, silent. Unresisting.

Stagnant.

She was looking at him like he was a priceless vase about to topple. The widening eyes, the drawn face, the dawning horror of the incoming loss of something precious; all of it pointed to her inability to let him fall. Varian felt the world begin to spin again, the rain and wind fading into the forefront in the light of his sister’s desperation.

But something in him, the trauma, the fear, the anger, something… it refused to be shoved back down. Not for her. Not for anyone. The bandage had been ripped off. The wound was open, the cancer exposed. Whether she liked it or not, he was stepping toward somewhere she might not be able to follow. He caught her eye, twisted his hand… and finally, he was free.

Her eyes widened with dismay, her grip getting stronger for just a second more before he tore himself from it. Varian heard her scream for him, his wrist slipping from her grip with the aid of his own dripping blood. Rapunzel yelled for him again, her wailing voice lost to the wind as Varian turned and sprinted toward the bow, leaving her firmly behind.

Something in him hurt, hearing the pain in her voice… but he had to do this. Had to fix his mistakes, back in the tomb, had to fix the problems his bloodline had brought to those around him. This was a step, a crucial one, to finally moving on. At least, he hoped.

Merrick was still at the bow, swinging the Staff like one would a baseball bat. The mage was cackling, looking up to the brewing storm with glee. His back was turned— good.

Varian’s feet thudded against the slick surface of the deck, nearly slipping once or twice against the rain. His boots weren’t the greatest for this, curse every fancy tailor under the sun; but he quickly ran through the gaps between Eugene and the Bayans, leaving them all behind. The boy deftly vaulted over flaming wreckage, weaving through the destruction of the Der Sonne as if it were a walk in the fields of Old Corona.

“Kid?!” He heard Eugene shout, horror obvious in the man’s voice, but Varian didn’t dare stop. Not now, not while he was so close. Merrick loomed a mere few meters away, back still turned; the mage was confident in his victory. Idiot.

Varian prided himself on being a problem solver, a smart guy, if science could fix an issue, he would figure out how. He was a man of knowledge, of academics. Typically, all his problems could be solved with wit and enough creativity.

But sometimes all you needed was to tackle someone to the ground.

With a scream Varian threw himself at Merrick’s undefended back, launching himself with brutal precision at the other teenager. Merrick’s voice went shrill with shock as Varian slammed into him, sending both of them toppling to the ground. Varian landed with a grunt, catching himself with his hands and wincing at a fiery ache that ran up his arms from his wrist at the impact.

The Staff clattered to the deck, swirling away from both teenagers. Varian was on his feet first, scrambling for the Staff with all the grace of a fish on dry land. Merrick was up a second later, managing to shove Varian back down as he passed. Varian yelped when he fell, rolling with the shove and stumbling after Merrick with a scowl.

The mage shifted; Varian could see the start of a spacial jump happening—but when Merrick tried it, he only managed a few feet before popping back into reality with a crack.

“Godsdamned rain!” Merrick snarled, stumbling from the failed teleport, and running for the Staff on foot.

Rain. Water. A fitting weakness for a fire based mage.

Merrick reached the Staff first, scooping it up with a snarl. Varian was right behind him, grabbing at it as well. They pulled at it, neither willing to give ground, yanking it back and forth like toddlers over a toy.

“Let it go!” Merrick snapped, “It’s mine!”

“You stole it!” Varian’s voice was nearly carried away by the wind. “It’s too dangerous, we have to put it back!”

Merrick’s expression darkened, pulling the Staff toward himself roughly. “It’s mine!” he repeated, “My destiny, my revenge, mine!”

“Will you cut it out with the revenge shit!” Varian pulled the Staff back, ignoring how the silver seemed to buzz under his hands. “This is stupid! It’s all stupid! Can’t you see we have bigger problems right now?”

Merrick looked ready to kill, letting go with one hand to swipe at Varian. The boy ducked out the way, catching an opening. With the same movement he thrust out one of his feet, catching Merrick right in the knee with the heel of his foot. Even above the rain he could hear the crunch of an unhappy joint, a bloodthirsty grin appearing when Merrick yowled in pain.

The hands holding the Staff fell away, Varian nearly falling on his ass without the force to pull against. He rolled, a good few feet away from his downed enemy. The alchemist forced himself to breathe, clutching the Staff tightly to his chest. He felt like a child holding a toy, gasping for air and flat on his back. He’d had the wind firmly knocked out of him— the boy was stunned, lying on the deck like a freshly caught fish.

The silver hummed in Varian’s hands, that tugging feeling in his bones finally stopping now that he had it once again. The cold was even worse now, like holding ice against bare skin. A burning cold that turned his fingers numb; Varian winced as his grip tightened on it. He managed to roll onto his knees, coughing roughly from the harsh landing. “Bullshit,” he whined, “Absolute bullshit.” Merrick, nearby, was doing much of the same, the older teenager wheezing in the rain.

Varian stumbled to his feet once again, already sick of being knocked to the deck. The Novis Staff continued to send out energy, a rhythm of pure magic that shot through the air. It was like holding something alive, conscious. Like holding a beating heart in the palm of his hand.

Varian looked for his friends, catching sight of them through the smoking wreckage of the mast. The Der Sonne was listing now, slightly, but still listing. She had truly begun to sink; they had to get off the warship and onto the Oracle if they wanted any chance of getting to safety. He was cut off from them, the fire spreading across the deck and consuming the upper levels. Varian swallowed thickly, catching sight of his friends’ terrified faces.

“Varian!” Rapunzel called. Her voice was reedy, nearly swallowed by the sounds of crackling fire and rushing water below. Eugene was by her side, the man scanning for any way to get around the flames. There wasn’t one. Varian knew this. He’d looked. He saw the exact second Eugene realized this, the man’s face dawning in abject horror.

Something in Varian clicked.

“You’ve gotta go!” Varian called, shooing them away like it would do anything. “I’ll meet you there!”

“Not happening!” Eugene was the one to shake his head. “We’ll get you— shit, kid watch out!”

Varian twisted, ducking down and narrowly missing the slice of a sword over his head. He yelped, scrambling away as Merrick loomed over him. The man looked nearly demonic, hair astray with a wild look in his eye. A river of blood was falling from a cut on his cheek, ruby against the grey sky. He didn’t speak, swinging his sword down to try and slice at Varian again.

The boy twisted away, Quirin’s cloak flaring out behind him. He caught sight of his panicking friends through the wreckage, the two of them trying to find a weak point in the fire that didn’t exist. The Der Sonne was listing more now, nearly enough for Varian to start slipping. She was going to split in two at this rate, her weakened center surely pushed to the very limit. She was going down and would take them all with her.

Unless someone forced their hand.

“Go!” He shouted at them again, turning his back on his friends. He rushed at Merrick, reeling the staff back like one would a bat, but at the last second before impact he instead let himself jump down into a slide, the listing angle of the ship and the slick wood of the deck helping him to skid under his enemy’s sweeping sword. Merrick let out an indignant noise at being swerved again, but Varian wasn’t paying attention to that, instead opting to sprint for the weakened center of the ship.

The Staff hummed in his hands, a buzzing power that he could feel from the tips of his fingers to the soles of his feet. It wanted to detonate, like a chemical reaction in a stopped bottle. The pressure of magic was building, pushing at the edges of the corporeal world with the vigor of a caged animal. Aldred’s machine had felt the same.

He skid to a stop, a flurry of water kicking up under his boots. Rapunzel and Eugene were yelling for him, their voices loud in the background, but Varian paid them no notice. He had a plan. Not a good plan, mind you, but a plan. He held the Staff high above his head, waiting for a split second. His breath heaved, choking, cloying smoke filling his lungs.

He had a choice, here. Either his friends would wait for him to try and get across the flames, something they obviously didn’t have the time to do, or…

Varian could force their hand.

The Der Sonne was weakened already by the lightning strike, all it would take was one final push and she would crack in half like a Fabergé egg. And Varian had always been one to push things to their limits, hadn’t he?

Merrick stood across from him. The mage’s eyes widened at the sight of Varian holding the Staff high, obviously seeing what Varian intended to do. He was slowly inching forward, trying not to spook Varian into acting, but it was a lie and they both knew it. Merrick was very much a predator on the prowl, stalking someone he thought was weaker than him until he thought he could get the upper hand. It wouldn’t work.

Not this time.

“You won’t let this die?” Varian asked, something in him smug at the way Merrick’s toxic green eyes flicked between Varian and the staff, like he was holding a grenade with the pin out. The taste of Merrick’s fear was delicious, seeing how cautious his enemy was being. Good. That’ll teach him.

“You know that this goes beyond us,” Merrick tried to argue, still inching forward. Varian scoffed, raising the Staff above his head by another inch and grinning when the man in front of him flinched. “It’s bigger than us. The feud started ages ago; you think you can just stop it? After all the blood?”

“It might be,” Varian admitted. It was-- bigger than them, that is. Countless years of history, of pain and blood and suffering, all boiled down to the two last members of the families facing off on a sinking ship in the middle of the ocean. How poetic, that they would both go down, together. Varian was done living in denial. When he next spoke, it was with a strength he thought he’d lost, those days in Barviel Keep. Things may have started a millennia ago…

“But it ends with me.”

He brought the staff down onto the shattered remains of the Der Sonne. The crack it made of silver against wood echoed much louder than it should have, accompanied by yet another massive pulse of energy, stronger than any before. Varian’s ears rang with it, all noise fading out into a high-pitched squeal. The deck below him gave one more violent shake, a bright light flaring out from where the base of the Staff was embedded in the wood.

It was almost too bright, pure white lines reaching out like spider’s webs from where Varian stood. The alchemist shouted, the metal in his hands so cold it felt like the very air around him would freeze—

Then, with the groaning of an ancient beast, the Der Sonne shuddered one last time.

The light faded out, leaving a perfect slice straight through the deck of the ship. Varian watched in awe as the Der Sonne began to shift, cleanly sliced in half from top to bottom. The teenager stumbled back as the two sides began to separate, grinding against each other in a scream of shattering wood and cracked glass. The listing became extreme, so much so that Varian was forced to grab onto what was left of the mast— he caught sight of a few of the Bayans falling over the railing and plummeting into the raging waters below.

Eugene and Rapunzel were clinging to the railing on the higher side of their half, Eugene holding tight while shielding Rapunzel in his arms. They looked no worse for wear, but as the stern half of the ship fully separated from the bow he could see how they were being forced into moving. Good. Exactly as planned.

He ripped the Staff from where it had stabbed into the deck, lifting it up once more and turning to where Merrick was holding tightly to a rope. The bow half of the Der Sonne was nearly at a eighty-degree angle list, their half almost perfectly on her side. The railing… well, it was below them now, already long since sunken under the rough waves.

Their flaming piece of wreckage, for the Der Sonne had long since stopped being worthy of being called a ship, was going down, quicker than the stern half. Varian winced as his fingers began to ache, a swooping feeling developing in his stomach as the floor finally fell out from under him and the wreck turned completely on its side. Water rushed over the railing, the wreckage under him bobbing in the waves like a cork.

He… may not have thought this through.

But as he caught sight of Rapunzel and Eugene being forced to leave the deck, rushing for where they’d moored the Oracle, he felt a surge of relief. Surely they had some crackpot scheme at the ready, but they were safe; he’d finally made sure his family wouldn’t go down with him. His heart was beating fast, so loud in his ears he didn’t hear what they were shouting… but as they vanished around a corner, Varian breathed easy for the first time since he’d been brought aboard.

He clung to the last of the mast, managing to get his feet under him as he awkwardly climbed on top. It was parallel to the sea, one foothold now that the deck was nothing more than a slippery slope into the ocean beyond. Merrick, nearby, had dug his metal hand into the wood, holding himself high by one arm and holding tight. Varian was forced to back up as much as he could as the mage swiped at him, trying to snatch the Novis Staff.

Varian nearly dropped the stupid thing. Ironic, considering the hell it had caused. Merrick swiped again, this time managing to maneuver himself onto the little piece of mast. It was only two meters long, offering no distance for Varian to scuttle away or hide; but as he faced his enemy, someone who had once terrified him… he didn’t feel that fear. Instead, he could only feel… regret, maybe? That things had gotten so out of hand, that he’d been drawn back to the sordid family history he’d tried so hard to leave behind.

He was so tired.

There was another burst of lighting. Both teenagers yelped as it hit near the top of the bow, an explosion of light and sound that violently tore the worlds to shreds in mere milliseconds. Varian felt himself stumble, his feet unable to get purchase—

He toppled, dropping off the mast and falling the nearly twenty feet into the water.

Varian saw a flash of ink fall past him— Merrick, also dropping from the wreckage— and heard a splash. A split second later he felt a ruthless slam on his own back, the ice-cold water below feeling more like concrete with how hard he hit it. He instinctively opened his mouth to scream, coughing as saltwater rushed in instead of air. He was choking, drowning— he couldn’t tell what way was up, he was sinking— he tried to blink away the water, fruitlessly trying to force his hands into a paddle. The salt burned, his eyes, the cuts on his hands and arm, a burn that had somehow happened in the scramble. His skin felt like it was on fire, the sting worming in and sinking deep.

The Novis Staff was still in his locked in grip, his hands tensing in primal fear and unable to let go as he sluggishly kicked and flailed. There was debris everywhere, shadows that played across his blurry vision and made everything that much more disorienting. He felt something solid smack into his back— a board? A barrel? He couldn’t even tell— and screamed again, water rushing in to fill his aching lungs.

Varian’s vision began to go spotty. He began to feel a stabbing pain in his eyes and ears, pressure from his aching lungs demanding he do something, swim—

His limbs were almost lethargic. Like he was trying to swim through molasses. His chest convulsed, trying to force a breath; he inhaled more water, the salt of it clear on his tongue. He turned the direction he hoped was up, blearily reaching his hand toward the red orange of flames above. If… if he could just get to the surface…

Another convulsion had him breathing in more water. Spots filled his vision, the panic fully settled in. He was going to die here. He’d never get home. He was going to sink to the bottom of the ocean, just like his mother had. How poetic.

He tried one last kick, weak and ineffectual. He was sinking, limp hand still reaching for the sky. The light from the flames got dimmer as he got further away, unwillingly descending into the depths. His eyes burned, from the saltwater or from tears, he’d never truly know.

He’d never fix things with his sister.

Varian’s vision began to dim, then darken. He was paralyzed, unable to twitch so much as a finger. Maybe… maybe this was the end. He’d been looking for it, after all. And it was quiet, here. Dark. Almost peaceful. There were worse places to sleep. He blinked one last time, slow. His eyelids felt so heavy… He was so tired… Varian closed his eyes for a final time, and let the ocean claim him.

Maybe now, he would have his ending.

>>><<<

The first surprise was that Varian wasn’t dead.

Or, at least, he didn’t think he was dead. Not yet anyways. He could feel solid stone under his back, cold and unyielding. It leeched the warmth from his skin, but the chill was blissful on Varian’s pounding skull. He winced, trying to ignore the bright light coming from beyond his eyelids. Had he slept in again? Why hadn’t Rapunzel woken him up…?

He cracked an eye open. The room beyond was familiar. Not one he’d seen in nearly two years, but one he knew well from his nightmares. From the lofty, arching ceilings, to the solid marble floors, it was exactly as he’d last seen it, the day he’d help burn it to the ground.

The Hall of Portraits was as immaculate as ever, every golden frame polished to perfection and shining in the dim sunlight coming in from the domed skylight. Varian opened his eyes fully, wincing as he sat up. The headache disappeared as quickly as it had started, and the ache that had followed him for the past week was long gone. He felt like he’d slept a hundred years, groggy but rejuvenated all the same.

“Maybe I am dead,” he whispered to himself. The vague impressions of the last week filtered through his head, Pincosta, Ori, Geldam’s tomb. The sinking of the Der Sonne. His family, escaping at the last second. Varian, sinking. Oh, gods maybe he was actually dead. Just his luck to wind up back here for his eternal hell.

He stood, scanning the room. It had been years, but he still remembered the Hall like it was yesterday. Like he was still in that tower, hidden away like a precious artifact. Varian shuddered, looking for one of the exits, only to find that the walls had somehow extended to cover where the exits had been.

Oh, so he was definitely dead.

Varian scowled. Quick feet took him to one of the “new” walls, the alchemist rapping on it with a knuckle. It sounded solid, as did the rest of the paneling. The oak blended seamlessly. He sucked in a small breath through his nose, trying to keep himself from freaking out; the nerves were beginning to fray, the idea of being stuck in the Hall for longer than necessary striking him with dread.

The portraits were as unappealing as always, masterfully painted but with sneering, judgmental subjects who all leered at Varian from their place on canvas. He wandered, skimming over Geldam’s painting, then Kamron and Abelia’s, coming to a stop in front of Aisha’s.

She still looked every bit a warrior queen. She still held that stupid blue bundle, the representation of Varian that Aldred had committed to paint and canvas when the man had assumed him dead. He glared at it, this little piece of Aldred’s horrible obsession with bringing his son back to the Keep. It made him sick. Varian reached out, intending on ripping the stupid thing off the wall, when a voice stopped him.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.”

Varian grit his teeth, tensing up at the familiar voice.

“Father.” His voice was flat. Varian refused to turn around, a hand still outstretched toward Aisha’s painting.

“Oh, come now,” Aldred sounded like he was pouting. It made something angry boil in Varian’s stomach. “It’s only been a few years, right? Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten our lime together, my boy. I thought we had such fun.”

“I had fun tossing you off the tower, does that count?” Varian snarled, twisting and meeting his tormentor head on. Aldred seemed nonplussed, amused, even.

“I see that you’ve still got your mother’s fire,” he cooed. “Lovely. You’ll need it.”

Varian cringed as the man stepped closer, his body moving without thought. He backed as far away from father as he could, his heart beginning to pound in his chest. Too close, he thought frantically, too close, too close—

“I will not have my son be weak,” father declared. “You are the last of our line-- and you’re going to wake up.”

“W-wake up?” Varian cursed himself for tripping over the words. His whole body was shaking, small spasms that had his knees knocking and his chest shuddering. It was almost embarrassing, if he had the space to be embarrassed between the waves of terror. “What—”

“You’re drowning,” father said flatly. “Just like my wife did. Just like I thought you had. I refuse to let one of those freaks win against us— so you’re going to wake up, and you’re going to kill it.” Father’s face sunk into a scowl, leaning closer to the terrified boy in front of him. “You’re good at that, aren’t you? Certainly seem to be, from my perspective. I will admit I didn’t think you had the balls… but you proved me wrong in the end, didn’t you? I forgot something crucial.”

“Wh—”

“As much as you are Aisha’s child… you’re my son too.”

Varian was going to vomit. He cowered back, bringing his clenched fists up to his chest in an attempt to self-guard, shrinking back into the wooden paneling next to Aisha’s portrait. Father seemed to grow tired of Varian’s panic, shaking his head.

“You’ve got the fight in you, like it or not,” he ground out. “And I’m telling you to grow up, stop being a coward, and finish the job.”

“I—” Varian’s voice was choked; he could barely speak through the lump in his throat. “I won’t, it’s not—”

“Not what?” Father’s voice was dangerously low. “Not right? What wasn’t right was you letting them into the tomb and handing them our family’s prized possession.”

Tears bit at the corner of Varian’s eyes. He couldn’t break down, he couldn’t, but seeing the man in front of him, the subject of his nightmares for over two years— it was a cloying, terrifying thing. His chest hurt, from how much his breaths stuttered. The alchemist was truly worried he might faint.

“I-I’m sorry, father.” His voice was weak, almost a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

Varian hated this; he hated that he could just be reverted back to the scared little waif that had been plucked from the ashes of Barviel Keep by father’s mere presence. It was like a switch had been flipped— Varian’s mind had immediately swapped back to the tactics that had kept the man’s bad temper at bay. The apologizing, the meekness, the way father spilled out from his tongue without thought. It was all things he’d had to work to break, after being brought home; it had been months before Varian was able to speak at a normal volume again, and even then he caught himself slipping if someone were cross with him.

He couldn’t go back. Not to that, not again. But here he was, trying to disappear into the wall once more. Varian hated himself for it. Hated father for reducing him to this again. Hated the cold tile under his bare feet, hated the wood paneled walls, hated the stupid domed windows.

He hated all of it.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it.” Father stepped back, giving Varian a little space to breathe. “You’re being a disappointment, letting those aberrations get to you like that. You are the last of our line, yet you’re still clinging to a princess’ skirts like a child.”

Varian bristled, but kept quiet. He the words were trying to push out of his chest, clawing at his tight throat and demanding to be said, but he just couldn’t, not in the face of father’s ire, not while he was angry. His self-preservation wouldn’t allow for it.

“I expected better, after what happened,” father’s face was sour. Blue eyes, mirrors of Varian’s own, flicked up and above the boy’s head, focusing on Aisha’s portrait. “I expected better,” he repeated, more wistfully.

Varian inched to the side, trying to worm out from between father and the wall. He felt constricted, claustrophobic; he felt like he was being boxed in with the walls slowly crushing inward. Father noticed the movement, leaning forward and grabbing the terrified boy’s chin, forcing eye contact between them.

“You’re going to wake up,” he ordered, “And you’re going to finish the job. Are we clear?”

Varian breathed deeply, closing his eyes. He clenched his fists, grit hit teeth.

And then, he spoke.

“I won’t.” His voice was strong, but there was no mistaking the shaking of his bottom lip. “I won’t do what you tell me, not anymore. I-I’m older now, and—”

“And what?” Father seemed amused, “Does being older suddenly make you unable to understand an order? You’re trying my patience.”

Varian almost shrank back when the grip on his chin got tighter. Almost. “It means I don’t have to listen to you,” he managed to get the words out through grit teeth. “It means you don’t have any more power over me; you’re dead.”

“And you’re dying,” Aldred shot back, “Or did we forget that little fact?”

Varian brought a hand up, wrenching father’s hand from his face and moving away. The man seemed almost shocked by the sudden outburst, eyes following as Varian stepped into the middle of the Hall. He ignored the feeling of hundreds of pairs of eyes on the back of his neck. He wasn’t backing down, not again. He’d stood up to Merrick, he’d stood up to Rapunzel.

He could stand up to a ghost, too.

“I hate you,” he said bluntly, and oh did it feel good to say. Father snorted, but Varian wasn’t stopping— now that the words had been let go, it was like unstopping a cork; his voice was flowing from him without much conscious thought.

“I hate you so much. I’ve hated you for two years, and I don’t think I’ll ever be finished. Y-you hurt my sister, you hurt Meave, you hurt me; and you…” he had to pause, to push back the salty tears in his eyes. “You killed my dad. You killed him, just because you wanted to.”

“I killed him because I was bringing you home.” Aldred’s voice was condescending. “Really, my son, only a few years away and you forget everything I tried to teach you.”

“Teach me?” Varian scoffed. “Teach me what? How to be the most hated king in the Seven Kingdoms? How to traumatize children—?”

“How to be strong.” Varian shrank back at the coolness in father’s tone. “I taught you how to take what was owed to you. Would you have rather grown up as a princess’ little pet?” The man scoffed. “Obviously you wanted to, seeing as that’s what you did as soon as there was no one to push you to be better.”

“Don’t talk about her like that.” Even if Varian had feared that very outcome, with Rapunzel’s protectiveness, it wasn’t the same when Aldred brought it up. “You don’t ever get to talk about her like that.”

Aldred’s face was stormy. Varian didn’t back down this time, even when the man loomed above him. It was like he was fifteen again, stuck under the thumb of a man who’d caused him nothing but misery— but unlike before, Varian met Aldred eye to eye. He didn’t cower. Not this time.

“You were destined for greatness,” Aldred said. “You were meant for so much more than this.”

Varian’s hackles raised at the reminder of what was supposed to be his name. His face twisted into something ugly, something angry. “I was born into love,” he shot back, unable to resist pointing out where his mother had truly denied Aldred any sort of connection to Varian as a child. The man hadn’t even known his name, until he’d stumbled upon the boy in Corona. It was salt in the wound, to be sure.

The insult hit, as it was supposed to. The man snarled, stalking forward and making a grab for the boy. Varian backed up, putting an arm up to try and push the man away. Aldred snatched his wrist, as he had so long ago— Varian pushed down the memory, the panic, the heart pounding surge of fear that sent his nerves screaming; the touch made his skin crawl, remembering how father had shaken him for speaking out of turn, had made him cry— and pulled the boy, his mirror, closer.

“Wake up,” Aldred pressed again. He tried to shake Varian, just like all that time ago. Varian squared his shoulders in retaliation, keeping himself exactly where he was. The man in front of him, the source of two years of night terrors, went oddly flat faced.

Varian was ready for the slap before it could hit.

He shifted, backing away. Aldred’s hand hung in the air, pausing when it missed the mark. Varian felt something smug rear up in the way the man’s tells had become obvious to him— the first point to defeating an enemy was to know it.

“No,” he said, voice flat. “I’m not done yet.”

Something caught his eye, in the back corner. A section of the wall, directly behind Aldred, had gone nearly black. Almost like… soot. Varian blinked, focusing on it for just a second, seeing how it got bigger. The ghost was unwinding.

Aldred himself looked… off. Now that Varian had gotten his proverbial feet underneath him, he could see the little details were different. The man’s face, though it was always thin and pointed, looked much more skeletal than before. One blue eye was darker than the other… the one Varian had carved out, himself. The edges of his salt and pepper hair were dark— almost singed. Hm.

“Do you want to go back upstairs?” Aldred asked him. The smell of smoke started to drift through the air. Varian’s fists curled at the threat— because it was very much at threat, just one he refused to let work on him again.

“I’d like to see you try,” the alchemist challenged. He wasn’t a scared little boy anymore— he wouldn’t be intimidated, or pushed down, not by anyone else. The black stain on the wall got bigger, smoking embers starting to pop up in the very center. The wallpaper began to curl from the heat, a few of the portraits getting singed on the side. Aldred’s eye was looking red and bloodshot. Things were beginning to crumble.

Good.

“I’ll drag you back to that room, if I have to,” the man threatened, the sudden spring of anger long since expected. Varian began to move, constantly evading the grabbing hands following him and keeping an eye on the wall. The flames had stirred to life, smoke and ash climbing through the air and spreading into the room. Varian winced at the sight of blood, ruby red against pale skin, began to leak from Aldred’s eye, looking almost like tears.

Despite the flames, Varian’s hands were… cold. Like ice.

The Novis Staff, it seemed, was still in play. Varian’s mind clicked— surely it had conjured this odd dream space. None of this was real. Father’s ghost may be here, may be lashing out as blood flooded from his now hollow eye socket, but—

“You don’t have any power, here,” Varian’s declaration was loud over the noise of flames. Aldred tried to interject, to wrest control back, but the boy wouldn’t have it. “You don’t.”

The fire had spread, encompassing them. Aldred whirled around, something like fear in his eye. Varian stood still, winding up in front of his mother’s portrait. The man was crumbling, his skin turning black and singed at the edges, the blood coming in rivulets. It was something to see, how quickly his abuser fell apart without the fear, the illusion of power, to prop him up.

“You’re still my son,” Aldred tried one last ditch attempt, stumbling forward as his body turned to ash. “You’re still my legacy.”

Varian was stoic when Aldred collapsed to the debris covered tiles. The man was nearly disintegrating, his ghostly form burning up just as his actual body had, in the fire that claimed Barviel Keep. The boy couldn’t find it within himself to feel anything other than a cold resignation— to watch as his nightmare finally crumbled away.

“I’m not your anything,” Varian said firmly. “Not your son, not your heir, not yours.”

He stepped back, uncaring when Aldred’s reaching hand fell to the ground and burst into a plume of dust and fire. The crackling heat around him, what should have felt like molten fire, was nothing more than a summer’s breeze on his skin. He looked down to the remains of his torment, and, at last, began to smile.

“Not anymore.”

Aldred let out one final, gasping snarl. It was pathetic, a wheezing noise from a dying memory; Varian watched as the man finally crumbled into ash. The room around him continued to burn, paintings crumbling into nothing but flaming wreckage, timbers falling from the ceiling, and yet… he didn’t feel scared. Not of the fire, not of the corpse in front of him, not of the memory of it.

Instead, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath.

Varian refused to open his eyes, listening as the noise of fire began to drain away. Soon there was nothing but silence left behind, echoing after the chaos of the banishing of Aldred’s ghost. He sucked in a deep, grounding breath through his nose, keeping his eyes closed for just a moment more. All he could hear was the beating of his heart, a steady, pulsing thing.

You’re alive, you’re okay. You faced him again, and you won.

It was a mantra, as the cold spread over his skin and a brief feeling of saltwater pressing on his chest faded in and out within seconds. The chill spread from his hand, stronger now, more stable. Varian kept his eyes closed until the sensations left. Instead, he stood as still as he could. Breathing. Listening. Grounded, and staring into the darkness behind his eyelids. The noises faded, as did the chill.

The smell of apples drifted across his nose; if he were more foolish, Varian would blame his dad’s cloak, still wrapped around his shoulders. Instead, he pinched his eyes a little more closed for a beat, preparing himself.

When he opened them again, he was somewhere new.

Somewhere he recognized.

The house in Old Corona, his childhood home, had been destroyed in the final battle against Zhan Tiri. Countless waves of black rocks had pockmarked the land, leaving countless villages in ruins. It had been part of the reason Varian had accepted the engineering position— and why Quirin had followed him in the new role.

Yet here he was, standing in the kitchen like he was three years old and waiting for his dad to return from the orchard, apples in hand so they could bake together. Varian turned, gently putting a hand on the weathered, old table. It was exactly as he remembered, the stains and burns from countless alchemy experiments gone wrong littered the surface. He could see a groove on the edge where Quirin had slipped with a knife while cutting vegetables when Varian had been around eight, even a few little nicks where Ruddiger had jumped up without fully retracting his claws first. It… it was home.

Varian blinked a few times, trying to shake himself from his stupor. The house was the same, just as the Hall of Portraits had been. Like a manifestation of his memories, brought to life. Father had infested one memory… but this one…

There was the familiar sound of the front door, opening and closing softly. Varian heard footsteps, heavy ones. He nearly burst into tears at the sound of them, as familiar to him as breathing. Someone, a man, was whistling, his deep voice echoing through the front hall as the person got closer to the kitchen. Varian couldn’t hold the tears back, suddenly feeling them flood from his eyes.

When Quirin turned the corner from the hall, standing in the doorway, Varian let out a loud sob. The man looked stunned, dropping the basket of apples he’d been holding. They rolled across the wooden floor, scattering around the kitchen without anyone to stop them. Varian and Quirin stared at one another, both of them at a loss for words for a fair half minute. Varian sniffled, biting at the inside of his cheek, and finally forcing his aching chest to say something.

“Hi daddy,” he said. His voice cracked, but he pressed onward. “I missed you.”

That seemed to break Quirin from his paralyzed state. The man rushed forward, reaching out to wrap his arms around Varian in a tight hug. Varian clung back, snorting when Quirin lifted him up and off the ground. His legs dangled, swaying as the man hugged him tightly. They stood like that for a long while, both of them unwilling to be the first to let go. Varian buried his face into the fur of his dad’s vest, inhaling the smell of apples and soaking his tears into the fabric.

After what felt like only seconds, Quirin finally put his son down. Varian stumbled a bit, wiping at his eyes. Quirin stopped him, cupping Varian’s cheek and wiping away the last of the tears with a large thumb. Varian sniffled pathetically, grabbing at the man’s hand like he would vanish again; his fingers were nearly white with how hard his grip was. Quirin didn’t notice, his eyes locked onto Varian’s face. The man looked shocked, nearly paralyzed.

There was a beat of silence, save for gentle birdsong outside the window. Neither of them seemed to know what to say—Varian’s thoughts were stumbling over each other in an attempt to be the first said, but it only made his silence stretch. Quirin’s shocked face sank into a warm smile, the man moving his thumb gently across his son’s face.

“You got taller,” Quirin said quietly, staring at Varian like the boy was about to vanish from sight the second he looked away.

Varian laughed wetly, trying to keep his hitching breaths from bubbling to the surface. “Yeah,” the boy choked out, “I, uh, I guess I did.”

He noticed how Quirin’s own eyes were shiny with tears. He didn’t comment on them. Instead he sank into his dad’s touch, the callouses in his hands familiar and comforting. Varian had never thought he’d get to see his father again, not even in a cosmic sense—but here he was, as strong and tangible as he’d been the last time Varian had seen him. All the quiet aches in Varian’s heart sprung to the surface, the misery and loneliness and loss that he’d suffered in the loss of his only parent, all of it rose up in one large wave, threatening to pull him under.

“You’re here so soon,” Quirin murmured. Oh, he probably thought…

“There was a— it’s like a magic, thing.” Varian’s words stumbled over themselves. “I’m okay. Or I think I am? I’m not really sure, there was a boat, I might be drowning. I don’t really know.”

Quirin let out a huffing laugh, reaching forward to hug Varian to him again. The boy went ecstatically, borderline throwing himself into his dad’s embrace. He’d missed this, so much; he hadn’t even known how much until he’d finally gotten his dad’s hugs again.

“I’m assuming the princess had something to do with it,” Varian could feel the way Quirin sighed, the crown of Varian’s head tucked under the man’s chin. It was strange; the last time they’d been together, he hadn’t been tall enough for that. Varian snorted, shaking his head.

“No, this one’s on me,” he admitted. “The Bayan royals had a… thing for weird magical stuff.”

Quirin’s body stiffened, hugging Varian to him a little tighter. “Aldred,” he whispered. Varian flinched, fingers curling tighter in his dad’s shirt. Quirin didn’t seem to register, muttering to himself. “He was going to take you away,” the man continued, “And— I tried, son. I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you.”

Varian sniffed, allowing himself to back off from the hug so he could look his dad in the eye. Quirin looked haunted, like he’d aged a hundred years. The joy of seeing him slowly settled into something more bittersweet; knowing that their time had been cut so brutally short.

“You did your best,” Varian said. “He— he was a monster.”

“Did he hurt you?”

Varian couldn’t find it within himself to lie. “Yeah.”

Quirin’s face crumpled, the man closing his eyes and looking away. “I’m sorry, son,” he said again. Varian’s chest hurt, seeing his dad so devastated. “I should have been stronger.”

“It’s… in the past,” Varian said. It felt like more of a sweeping statement, after everything that had happened the last few weeks. Aldred, Barviel, all of it. In the light of newfound strength and determination— it all felt farther away. Put to rest, at long last. Like Varian could let it lie and be content. In the past, indeed.

Quirin cupped his cheek again. Varian leaned into it, blinking away tears again. “I missed you,” the boy murmured again.

“Are you… okay, now?” Quirin’s voice was as stoic as Varian remembered, but the teenager could hear the underlying concern. “I’ve been here for a while, I know that. Time’s passed. You grew up, and I wasn’t there for you. Someone’s taking care of you, right?”

“Arianna,” he started. “And Frederick. Rapunzel and Eugene. It was a month before they, uh, they found me. They brought me home.”

“A month,” Quirin’s voice cracked. “A month with that man—”

“He’s gone, now.” Varian cut him off, gently. “I, uh, I made sure of it. He’s gone.”

Quirin blinked, leaning back and looking Varian in the eye. “You…?”

“Yeah.”

“On purpose?”

“….Mostly?

Quirin surprised Varian by laughing, shaking his head. “I think you get that from your mother,” he said, still chuckling. “I certainly didn’t teach you that.”

Varian snorted through the quiet tears. “No,” he admitted, “No, you didn’t.”

Quirin tilted his head, putting both hands on his son’s shoulders. “You’ve grown up,” he said, wistfully. “How long has it been?”

“Two years,” Varian’s voice was quiet. “We buried you in the palace cemetery. I didn’t know where— or if Old Corona, would have been better, or even back in the Dark Kingdom—”

“Wherever you are,” Quirin said, “That’s where I’d want to be.”

Varian sniffled. He wiped at his eyes, trying to keep himself together. “I don’t know if I want to leave, again,” he admitted. “I… I should want to wake up, right? But… you’re here, and I’m so tired, dad.”

Quirin’s face pulled down into a frown, the man patting Varian’s shoulder. “I know,” he admitted. “It’s exhausting, out there. When your mother left, I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. You were only a year old, you know, and she’d vanished in the middle of the night, just telling me to keep you safe.” He laughed, something a little more self-deprecating. “I couldn’t even do that, in the end.”

He met Varian’s wide-eyed gaze, the gravity of the situation obvious. “I know you’re tired,” he consoled. “I know. But that doesn’t mean giving up is the right answer. Even if it means saying goodbye again.”

Varian’s heart shattered at the last part. He knew his dad was making sense. “I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered, the tears carving lines down the soot on his cheeks. “Not again.”

“You won’t,” Quirin said, his voice comforting. “You’ll go back, and the rest of our family will be there. You’ll grow old, and maybe find someone like I found your mother. But Varian,” he tipped the boy’s face up to look at him, smiling sadly. “You’ll live. And that’s what’s important. We’ll see each other again, once you’re done with living a long, happy life. Not a second sooner, you hear me?”

Varian bit his lip, sniffling. “I promise,” he tried to joke. It fell a little flat, but it helped to break a bit of the tension.

His hands started to feel cold. The Staff was calling him, back to the land of the living. It had done its job and done it well. Varian was running out of time. He felt a spark of panic—it’s so soon, not enough time, he had so much to tell his dad before--

“Dad,” he tried to start, only for Quirin to calmly stop him.

“I love you, son.” The man said, wrapping Varian up in one last hug. Around them, the kitchen slowly started to disappear, their time together slowly fading away. Varian threw his arms around his dad’s neck, clinging with all his might. Quirin squeezed him once more, making Varian’s aching ribcage creak. “I’m so proud of you,”

Varian could feel his dad’s grip fading, the pressure of those arms slipping away.

“I love you, too,” he sobbed, closing his eyes against the brightness. It was gentle, but too bright. Their surroundings quickly disappearing into the bright void beyond. “I love you, dad.”

The light pulsed once, then twice. Even behind his closed eyelids, Varian was nearly blinded by the brilliance of it. His body was cold again, not uncomfortably so, but the chill in his skin was noticeable. The feeling of Quirin around him vanished, the spell breaking. The boy could feel a solid weight in his hand; pressure all around him began to wash in. Water, surrounding him. Any second now he’d be kicked back into the land of the living.

Varian laid back into the feeling and allowed the light to wash over him. He had a promise to keep, and a family to find. The light consumed him, and Varian let himself be pulled into it, ready for the next step.

It was time to move on.

>>><<<

Varian woke up to nearly being impaled by debris. He nearly screamed in terror, only just keeping his wits about him. He put a hand over his mouth, keeping the air in. The Novis Staff was still in his hand, probably the only reason he was alive at all, but the wreck of the Der Sonne was sinking around him. Chunks of the ship littered the water, as did cargo, rigging, and other wreckage that threatened to ensnare anyone who got too close.

Varian started to kick his way to the surface, awkwardly moving around the sinking wreckage and trying to keep his distance. The grey sky above was light enough that Varian could tell which way was up— a small blessing, but one he wouldn’t take for granted.

As he kicked, however, he caught sight of a dark smudge in the water, something that wasn’t debris. This one was moving. A person, Varian’s thoughts screamed. He began to make his way toward them, pausing as he got close enough to see who it was.

Merrick, it seemed, had gotten tangled in the rigging of the Der Sonne somewhere on the way down. The older boy was struggling, kicking at the rope and sails in a futile attempt to escape. He was yanking at the ropes almost desperately, tugging on them without actual thought or reason. Varian slowed a bit, unsure— but inwardly groaned at his bleeding heart. He shouldn’t have to help; he wasn’t obligated to try. No one would blame Varian if he turned around and swam for the surface and left his enemy to his fate. No one, that is, except himself.

Varian rolled his eyes, reaching for his belt and pulling out Eugene’s knife with his free hand. He swam close, keeping his distance when Merrick caught sight of him and swiped his human hand at Varian. The boy shot him a look, backing off and trying to portray innocence. I’m trying to help, he thought grumpily, the least you could do is work with me, here.

Merrick’s metal arm lay awkwardly limp by his side. It was easy to see that something in the delicate machinery had broken, causing it to be nothing more than dead weight. It was also tangled in the rigging, though not as badly as Merrick’s legs were.

Varian swam closer, bringing the knife up and starting to methodically cut at the ropes tangling the other teen’s legs. They were tied to what looked to be part of a mast, the weight of it swiftly dragging down into the depths of the water. Varian’s lungs burned— they needed to get swimming for the surface soon if they wanted a shot at making it. He kept cutting, slowly but surely getting the mage free.

Merrick looked almost confused, holding still so that Varian could work on freeing him. There was only a few more ropes to go, almost there—

Varian let out a shocked burst of bubbles when there was a sudden pain in his arm. He caught a flash of silver to his left, a knife in his enemy’s hand. Oh, that asshole. Merrick’s face was a flurry of rage, swiping again at Varian with the blade, only to fail. The alchemist began to swim backward, out of reach, only for the man to snag him by the ankle.

There was a loud crack, audible even underwater, and with a sickening dropping feeling, the mast began to sink even faster. Whatever had been holding it afloat had broken, leaving the mast, and the two teenagers by extension, dropping down into the void below.

Varian kicked at Merrick, trying to free himself. The mage had a deranged smile on his face— surely he knew that they both were going to drown, right?!— and tugged on Varian’s ankle harder. It seemed like, even after all this, the other refused to give up.

Problem for him, being that neither was Varian.

The younger boy aimed another kick, grimacing when he felt cartilage break under his heel. Merrick let out a stream of bubbles in lieu of a shout, his hand falling away. Varian flailed his legs with as much might has he had, kicking frantically for distance. He felt fingers graze his feet, only for them to latch onto the frayed edge of Quirin’s cloak. Varian nearly choked when it was yanked, pulling him down, down, down.

Varian panicked, flailing again at the rough treatment. He looked down, seeing the strong grip Merrick had on the cloak, and grimaced. The light from the surface was disappearing quickly, the mast more than heavy enough to drag them both down to the ocean floor. Varian grit his teeth, his grip tightening on Eugene’s knife.

With a calculated slice, he brought the blade down onto the edge of Quirin’s cloak. He felt a stab of guilt, as he cut nearly a fourth of the fabric away, severing the tie Merrick had on him. Varian kicked again, the last of the cloak tearing away and leaving Merrick with nothing but a handful of fabric. The alchemist managed to kick up, launching himself up and out of reach.

The mage below him tried to grab at the boy one last time, only to fail as Varian finally managed to slip out of his grasp. Merrick’s face switched from fury to a dawning horror so quickly it was almost comical. The mast was sinking faster now, air rising from it in a plume of bubbles. Varian was forced to look away from his enemy to avoid more debris as they too began to sink, dragged down by the larger pieces of the Der Sonnes sinking corpse.

Merrick was still trying to grab at him, even as he sank further down. Varian weaved awkwardly around a part of the Der Sonne’s bow as it passed, before watching with wide eyes as it caught up in the rigging attached to the mast, and therefore Merrick. The alchemist began to swim down again, trying to keep the other teenager in his sight, but with the combined weight of the mast and the new portion of the bow, the rigging and sail began to plummet through the water.

Within seconds. Merrick’s snarling face vanished into the darkness. Varian found himself stunned, floating in the depths as he watched the inky outline of the mast disappear. He held like that for as long as he could, waiting for… something. What, he wasn’t entirely sure. For Merrick to swim up? For another chance to try and help?

Whatever it was, it never came.

The fire in Varian’s lungs became too much to bear; he was forced to start kicking for the surface, frantically pumping his limbs, and pushing himself through the water. He was so close, just a second more—

His head burst through the water, a bare patch in the wreckage where the debris had already sank allowing space for him to hit blessed air. He flailed a bit, grabbing onto the first thing he could find and clinging tightly. A board, part of the outer hull, that could barely hold his weight. He clung to it anyways, holding close and allowing his aching body to rest.

Varian cast an exhausted gaze around the wreckage, forcing air into his aching lungs. The storm had calmed, the water gentle around him. Varian held tight to his salvation, his exhausted limbs nearly dropping now that he could finally stop fighting. With the Der Sonne’s wreckage starting to slip below the waves, everything had begun to calm. The alchemist settled, finally able to relax.

And then, for the first time in ages, he breathed.

[popculturebuffet]

The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck Part 6: Terror of the Transvaal!  “But You...  You Just Made Me Mean.”

Hello you happy people. And welcome back to my look at The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck! And with this one i’ve reached the halfway point of this epic and couldn’t be prouder and have no plans to slow down. In fact while June and July will have one chapter each as is my usual for storylines I do on my own time, August and September will have DOUBLE the chapters to help me reach the finsih line. This dosen’t mean i’m done mind, i’ll probably get into the side chapters next year, possibly sooner. But my main goal when setting out to do this was to cover the main story, one of my favorite comics of all time and easily the best scrooge comic ever. But the point is it’s been a helluva ride so far and i’m not even to the second half yet. 

This chapter is also one of my favorites along with “The Last of Clan McDuck”, “THe Raider of the Copper HIll” and “The Invader of Fort Duckburg”. It’s a compelling and tragic turning point in our heroes life and has THE most badass moment in Scrooge’s history, only rivaled by another moment in this very series, which if you’ve read it you know EXACTLY what i’m talking about for both. This is also a lucky one for me as I scheduled this a while back before me and Kev had settled on doing the season 2 arcs, so I ended up scheduling this one the same week as my coverage of Glomgold’s other origin story in “The Ballad of Duke Baloney!”, a story that take some small cues from this one. So if all of that has peaked your interest, please join me under the cut as Scrooge becomes “The Terror of the Transvaal!”

As for why Rosa set the chapter here there’s two simple reasons: it was one of two gold rushes mentioned in Barks work, meaning Scrooge could get in some more experience before making his fourtune in the Klondike, and Rosa understandably couldn’t resist having Scrooge and his greatest rival meet in their youth. He WAS careful to not have Scrooge learn Flinty’s name, as Scrooge dosen’t recognize him in Flintheart’s first apperance in “The Second Richest Duck”.. but Rosa noticed Flinty seemed familiar with SCROOGE, and simply ran with it, still having his first encounter with the bastard deeply effect Scrooge but leaving Scrooge unaware that the thief and betrayer he met in the Transavaal was the same heartless Scoundrel he’s fated to keep fighting till one or both of them keels over. 

So starting the chapter proper Scrooge has come to the Transvaal to prospect for gold, following his hunch from last chapter, trying to make his way to the rand, a large natural area in south Africa. The Transvaal itself was a large expanse that was cut up in the 90′s after the fall of apartheid. 

Scrooge passes a massive Diamond Mine, large with tons of miners on small claims, but wisely passes it up: there’s too many people, too much fuss and likely too much risk of getting stolen or finding nothing.

And to prove that point we meet Flinty who is trying to steal a guy’s diamonds for the second time today. Now the other miners reaction IS FAIR: they send him up in a bucket thing their using to transport the diamonds as a thief and announce him as such and the people on the surface’s reaction makes it very clear this isn’t new behavior. Him being punished is fine... their punishment though....

Seriously, theft is not worth doing a murder.. and yes he COULD escape and their trying to frame it like that’s not what htier doing.. but their sending someone with clearly low self preservation skills into the desert, with no suplies, tightlyt ied to an angry and clearly wild animal. While Flinty DOES deserve jail for his shit, he doesn’t deserve to DIE for attempted theft. He didn’t ruin anyone’s lives or actually succeed and he’s clearly harmless if eveyrone in the mine knows he’s a criminal. You can’t just murder all your problems away... I mean the blood alone is just not worth the clean up. 

Naturally Scrooge crosses paths with Glomgold and assumes he’s simply gotten himself trapped somehow and being an openly kind soul at this point in his life, gladly helps the guy free. Scrooge mentions he’s headed to Johannesburg and GLomgold offers to come along and do all the work as his guide. Scrooge being Scrooge refuses the “do all the work part” but gladly accepts a guide and a new friend and introduces himself as from Scotland. And as a result we get... something resembling a joke...

Look I’m not against a good pun... but that was not a good pun. It wasn’t even a passable pun. It also feels like a bit of a stretch given Scrooge is well traveled by now. you’d THINK he’d get that he was probably talking about something local and not insulting himself. 

So Scrooge talks about all he’s learned with Flintheart bored and kind of a dick.. and offering a lesson of his own despite being the same age as Scrooge.. specifically he takes first watch and gives a smug speech. 

Scrooge wonders around the wilderness and finds a lion.. then an elephant and soon has the entire savannah after him as he bemoans the betrayal, having never felt like this. We’ll get more into the why in a bit. The point is he’s backed against a wall..but as we all know a cornered animal, human , duck , humanoid duck no matter the species is often at it’s most dangerous. 

Especially if that animal is a McDuck. So here we get that badassery I mentioned: faced with an angry horde of some of the most dangerous and awe inspiring critters in Africa Scrooge uses EVERYTHING he’s learned roping cattle and what not to best them. He uses tricks from besting Long Horns to get the Elephants tangled up in a tree, then uses a log to beat a Rhino, before lassoing himself a motherfucking giraffe:

And if THAT weren’t already cool as all hell he tops himself: Since he dosen’t consider a Zebra a proper mount.. he decides to go for something bigger. 

So to recap just so it all sinks in for you: Scrooge, abandoned with no suplies, defeats two elephants and a rhino, rides a Giraffe, then TAMES a fucking lion with nothing more than an improvised lasso and PURE RAGE. Then RIDES that majestic creature across the planes like a GODDAMN HORSE, before riding iti into town casual as all hell. I MEANT IT and he’s STILL not done. I mean it doesn’t’t top riding a motherfucking lion, what could, but what he does for an encore is still utterly badass and is a nice coda to riding a motherfucking lion. 

So at the local abr Glomgold lies about everything and makes himself the hero of the story, Yes Flintheart Big Dick Glomgold. Purest soul there ever was.  This lasts all of a minute as while Flinty brushes off the fact a cowboy is looking for him, he doesn’t even know what that is... he’s soon rightfully shitting himself when Scrooge comes for his vengeance. 

The art here is as always impeccable. The shading alone. But seriously I’m terrified and I know he can’t harm me... in theory. In practice if ANYONE could reach out of the page and throttle me, it’d be the guy who rode a motherfucking lion. And no i’m never letting that go. Fucker rode a lion. That’s the kind of thing you never forget about a character for damn good reason. We also get one of my favorite lines in the story, and it has tons of greats.. but this is an easy contender for my favorite:

It’s a chilling line and panel, with it made clear Scrooge’s cynsim, his biggest weakness and often what makes him the most unlikable came from this.. the moment where a villain with no scruples, no care and no code or morals of any kind utterly betrayed him and tried to leave him for dead that took any scrap of hope in mankind he had and destroyed it. From now on he likes nobody and nobody likes him. Other mentors helped Scrooge grow as a person, taught him skills and taught him to survive, to enjoy the road getting to fortune as much as the fortune himself, and to make his way square. Flinty. just made him mean. 

But Scrooge isn’t going to kill him.. for one thing he doesn’t’t like shooting people or animals. For another.. he has something far more satisfying in mind: Old West Justice, Tar and Feathearing style, covering the guy and humiliating him by making him do a bullet dance Marty McFly style. 

Flinty TRIES to simply escape and steal Scrooge’s shotgun.. but it fails as he runs into the lion and Scrooge takes the beaten flinty over to the jail to press charges. Flinty is jailed.. and makes his own vow. 

So with that Scrooge has made a foe for life, and this is another thing the 2017 Cartoon took.. it’s just where as this  Flinty was merely angry at his rightful compuance and humilation, the cartoon one was a small child who swore vengance for an honest mistake. But either way you slice it he won’t make Scrooge’s life any easier. 

So with that we get our epilogue: Scrooge never made his forutune her, naturally, as the ore was too low quality for him to process alone so only the already rich could afford to set up shop here. Scrooge packs it in determined to still make his fortune and we get an awesome closing panel. 

Final Thoughts: As you could probably tell, I fucking love this one. It’s utterly amazing. Barks himself has said he felt the best chapters took place over a short time span and it shows: by having to cover less time, only having a time passing bit at the very end, it allows this vital story to take place over less than a day and allows it to move at a hell of a pace. It’s got action, great character work as we see Scrooge’s last bit of trust in his fellow man shatter, and THE best climax of the series. And the others have some whoppers. This one is just so damn awesome, taking most of the issue but using EVERY page of it to tell one epic finale, from Scrooge’s easy mastery of the beasts, to his taming a motherfucking lion, to Flinty’s UTTERLY satstifying humilation conga...this is just a masterpiece and a huge reminder why I love this comic

Next Time: Scrooge sadly dosen’t keep the lion but does head to Australia where he faces what he is in the dark, meets a new mentor, and gets pointed to his destiny. See you next month for that. 

If you liked this review share it, and if you’d like to help me make more join my patreon at patreon.com/popculturebuffet. WIth only 10 days left till the new pay period nows the time to jump in so you can pick a short for my Donald Duck birthday specail next month or help me reach a stretch goal so I can get it on the board. Time’s a wastin. And if you can’t, tha’ts fine, thanks for reading. 

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Do you know any fics with 3g moments where Sherlock gets hurt instead of John?

Hi Lovely!!

Ahh, I don’t have anything necessarily 3G, but I have a lot of Sherlock Whump so we’ll just classify it all in the same blurb, LOL.

SHERLOCK IS SICK / HURT (WHUMP)

See also:

Doctor / Caretaker John

Doctor / Caretaker John Pt. 2

Promise of Sussex by LittleLongHairedOutlaw (T, 705 w. || First Person POV Sherlock, Sherlock Whump, Angst, Pining, Ambiguous Ending) – John tries to keep Sherlock conscious after he’s been shot on a case.

Concussions And Good Old Fashioned Awkwardness by Belldere (K+, 894 w. || Humour, Hospitals, Mild John Whump, Misunderstandings, Platonic Relationship, Concussions, Not-Gay John, Possessive Sherlock) – When John lands himself in hospital… again, all he wants is to just get out of there as soon as possible, too bad his doctor has other ideas about where John may be getting his injuries. Good thing concussions make everything strangely funnier.

Usefulness of Having Friends by ObservationofTrifles (K, 1,052 w. || Friendship)  – Sherlock is sick and John is bringing him to the doctor’s. On the way there in the tram, John decides to play a deduction game to cheer Sherlock up.

Idiot by Anesthesiologist (T, 1,229 w. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Alternate TGG / Explosion, BAMF John, Sherlock Whump, Inner Monologue, John Saves Sherlock, POV Sherlock) – What the heck happened? He remembered the pool and Moriarty, but then what? Had he been dying?

Giveaway Fic #9 - Angsty Sick Fic/Sherlock is Sick by ConsultingPurplePants  (T, 1,734 || Hypothermia, Love Declarations) – The next time he awakens is even more chaotic. Two doctors are shouting at each other in the corner, and John is holding his hand so tightly Sherlock is worried he’ll break it. Part 9 of 1000 Tumblr Followers Giveaway Fics

Quite Contrary by Hollyesque (T, 1,805 w. || HLV Fic, Sherlock Whump / After Mary Shot Sherlock, Hallucinations / Flashbacks / PTSD, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Lestrade POV, ) – A short one-shot, alternate scene to Greg’s hospital visit in HLV. Instead of Sherlock disappearing, Greg is faced with an unexpected reaction to a hospitalized Sherlock and winds up figuring out something that he really would have rather not known.

BBCSH ‘Poor Mary’ by tigersilver (M, 1,839 w.|| HLV Fic, Canon Compliant, Sherlock Whump / Mary Shot Sherlock, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Pining Sherlock, Hospitalization, Missing Scene, Sherlock POV) – As the tin says above, this is a missing scene, set directly after Sherlock awakens in hospital after having been shot by his best mate’s wife. Minor angst, some pining, nothing nasty; please don’t be alarmed unduly.

Crisis Averted by Spartangal22 (T, 2,188 w. || HLV Fic, Missing Scene After Confronting Mary, Canon Compliant, Sherlock Whump / Mary Shot Sherlock, Family / Friendship, Hospitalization, Sherlock POV, Holmes Brothers) – Lying in the hospital, Sherlock receives some surprising visitors, and manages to deal with two problems he’s been having lately. A missing scene from HLV about a formal introduction that was never made and a visit that was never shown.

Love Hurts by Grac3 (T, 2,215 w.|| Magical Realism, Pining Sherlock, One-Sided Pining / URT, Sherlock / John Whump, Angst, Ambiguous Ending) – In a world where someone’s physical injuries manifest themselves on the person who is in love with them, John didn’t think that there would ever be anyone who was willing to risk falling in love with him - until he got shot on a case, and it didn’t hurt. Unrequited Johnlock.

Q 1 HR by StillWaters1 (K+, 2,234 w. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Sick John, Fluff, New Year’s Eve) – On New Year’s Eve, Sherlock discovers that sometimes it’s the seemingly innocuous, rather than life-threatening, conditions that can keep John from The Work. And John is reminded just how deeply their friendship runs.

In My Life (and dreams, you take my breath away) by Nina36 (NR, 2,847 w. || Post-TRF/TEH, Angst, Pining Sherlock) – The first time he had dreamt about John he had been in Peru. He had been “dead” a little over a month, squatting in a tiny rented room, the heat and the stains on the walls making him slightly claustrophobic. It had been a nice dream: John and he eating take away Chinese in their kitchen, a song coming from Mrs. Hudson’s radio downstairs, something about friends and lovers and how no one compared with him, his mind supplied in his dream.

The Rational Machine by Solstice Zero (K, 2,924 w. || Hurt / Comfort, Malnourishment / Fainting, Doctor / Minder John) – Sherlock passes out. John muses on the reasons why. Containing an absorbing case, two bags of shopping, and a few apples.

Entanglement by orphan_account (G, 3,218 w. || Pining, Confessions) - On Christmas Eve, snow covers London, John visits Harry, and Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson untangle some knots.

Five Times John Cooked Something with Peas and One First Kiss by 221b_careful_what_you_wish_for (T, 3,915 w. || 5 and Ones, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Cooking / Food, Sick Sherlock, Music, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss) – After John cooks five dinners that slowly reveal their hunger for each other, Sherlock and John finally share a first kiss.

Welcome Home, John by slashscribe (G, 5,504 w. || Post-S3, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Awkwardness, Stabbed Sherlock, Protective Sherlock, Panic Attack (Sherlock), Self Esteem Issues, Love Confessions, First Kiss) – When John moves back to 221B, he thinks he’s the broken one, but after a while, it becomes clear that he might not be correct.

The Dying Detective Remix by SailorChibi (K, 6,563 w. || Friendship & Family) – No one hates admitting illness or wounds more than Sherlock… perhaps that’s why no one believes him when he actually gets sick. Fortunately, when he can’t do it himself any longer, John and Lestrade are there to pick up the slack. Features Paternal!Lestrade and Gen John and Sherlock. One-shot.

Until I See the Sun by Vintage Tea Party (T, 8,194 w. || Nightmares, Mild Whump, Friendship, Mild Violence, Angst) – After a particularly dangerous case, John suffers from night terrors. Will Sherlock be able to comfort him? Will he be able to find out what is really troubling John?

Incapacitation by Cumberbatch Critter (T, 9,424 w. || Hurt / Comfort, Friendship, Sick Sherlock, Doctor John, Appendicitis) – The doctor had just asked how bad the pain was when the pain spiked. Sherlock’s initial response was a gasp that evolved into a whimper. “Ten,” he gasped. “Ten…”

I See You Through by belovedmuerto (T, 12,078 w. || Psychic AU || Empath John, Alternate TGG, Whump, Nightmares, Bedsharing, Slow Burn, Pre-Slash) –John has never asked Sherlock about his past, his childhood, the reason he quails in lonely misery almost every time he sees his brother. He’s never needed to. Part 2 of An Experiment in Empathy

First Response by Arwen Jade Kenobi (T, 13,516 w. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Five and Ones, Whump / Injury) – Five times John had to perform first aid on Sherlock and one time Sherlock had to perform it on John.

I Will Take Care Of You by SailorChibi (T, 16,664 w. || Hurt/Comfort, Sick Sherlock, BAMF John, BAMF Lestrade, Reunion Fic) – Two years after Sherlock’s death, John comes to find him on the sofa. Wounded and ill, Sherlock is convinced he’s hallucinating and refuses to share any details about Moran or the fact that Mycroft has been compromised. That doesn’t stop John from stepping up and taking care of the last of Moriarty’s web, BAMF-style.

Checkmate to a Castled King by LaSuen (T, 18,290 w. || Friendship, Hurt / Comfort, Sick Sherlock) - John dies. Or at least everyone thinks he does. (REVERSE-TRF, FAVE)

Another Auld Lang Syne by DiscordantWords (M, 30,234 w. || Post S4, Mutual Pining, Alternating POV, Introspection, Parentlock, Christmas, New Year’s, First Kiss, Past Drug Use, Angst with Happy Ending, Drinking, Sherlock Whump) – There had been years of missed chances.

The Kissing Disease by cottonballz_of_death (E, 30,856 || Sickfic, Angst with Happy Ending, Case Fic, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Jealous Sherlock, Body Image Issues, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional H/C, POV Sherlock, Oral / Anal, Thong, Frottage) – John brings home a boyfriend, shocking Sherlock, who long ago gave up hope that his straight flatmate would ever take a romantic interest in him. In a bid to reconnect with John, he tries to infect himself with a “harmless” virus. Neither of them is prepared for the emotional fallout that results.

Our Enthusiasms Which Cannot Always Be Explained by withoutawish (M, 32,961 w. || Christmas, Fluff and Angst, H/C, Post-TRF, Case Fic, Mild Gore, Sherlock Whump) – The list that is tacked haphazardly on the refrigerator of 221B reads, ‘Kidney(s), and/or a full cadaver (preferably male, late 30s, under six feet tall), bag of fresh toes, sixteen cow’s eyes (corneas retained), dual exhaust hand –held flame thrower, an unopened first edition copy of Joseph Conrad’s 'Heart of Darkness’, and no less than ten abhorrently gruesome murders in the upcoming month.” The one neatly hanging next to it simply reads, “Sex.” One of these lists is not John Watson’s. If John Watson were to put what he really wanted in list form, to live in a land somewhere beyond ‘almosts’ now that Sherlock Holmes has indeed returned to him, he would never be able to look his flatmate in the eye ever again.

Electric Pink Hand Grenade by BeautifulFiction (E, 67,718 w. || First Time / Kiss, Seizures, Headaches) – “If Sherlock’s brain is a hard drive, then these attacks are an electro-magnetic pulse.” Sherlock Holmes does not do anything by half, not even a migraine. It falls to John to witness one of the greatest minds he has ever known tear itself apart, and he must do his best to help Sherlock pick up the pieces.

Summit Fever by J_Baillier (M, 78,802 w. || Mountain Climber AU || POV John, Angst, Tragedy, Suicidal Ideation, The Himalayas, Mountain Guide / Doctor John, Mount Climber Sherlock, Loneliness, Drama, Suspense, Slow Burn, Injured Sherlock / Sherlock Whump, Pining John) – After graduating from medical school, John Watson followed his heart to the Himalayas. Ten years later, he’s a haunted cynic working for his ex-lover’s trekking and mountaineering company. Will leading an expedition to Annapurna I—the most lethal of all the world’s highest mountains—shake John out of his reverie, and who is the mystery client added to the group at the last minute?

To Light Another’s Path by BeautifulFiction (E, 128,654 w. || Post-TGG, Sick Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Drug Addiction / Recreational Drug Use, First Time / Kiss, Case Fic) – Teaching John to observe seems to be a losing battle, but when Sherlock falls ill and submits himself to John’s care, will he realise that there is more to life than the science of deduction? Meanwhile, there is a murder to solve, and John must try and convince Sherlock not to sacrifice his own health for the sake of the case.

[mundieoriley]

Into the Wild | Aragorn x Oc  One

Summary: Imagine yourself sitting in you backyard beneath an oak tree that has been there long before you were ever born. Now imagine yourself suddenly disappearing from that spot, whisked away to another place entirely. Cheyanne found herself in precisely that unbelievable situation, dumped into a strange and unfamiliar world filled with monsters and magic and Rangers from the North. Why was she plucked up from her backyard and placed in such a world? And how is she ever going to get home?

Preface: Just putting it out there that I plan on tweaking the canon and mixing events from the movies and the books to suit my purposes; also in my Oc's universe, the Lord of the Rings does not exist for simplicity's sake. Updates Fridays.

Masterlist is linked on my profile page.

Author's Note: Hey everyone! I can't tell you how excited I am to finally be putting this story out there! It has been in the back of my mind for a really long time and it has even gone through several hand written renditions(Although never to completion) Thanks so much for checking this out! But you better buckle up, baby. This is going to be a real adventure.

With lots of love

Mundie

In a burst of blinding and multicolored light, Cheyanne falls flat on her face with a muffled thump, the force of her landing knocking the air from her lungs. She lays there on the ground for several moments, waiting for the vertigo and dizziness to fade as she attempts to catch her breath without inhaling any unwanted objects. When she can finally breathe again and the ground beneath her stops spinning, she slowly raises her head, squinting as her eyes adjust to the dim light filtering down through the.... trees? With a groan, Cheyanne pushes herself stiffly into a sitting position, brushes away the leaves and dirt that stuck to her face, and takes in her new and unfamiliar surroundings with wide eyes.

She sits among the remains of some sort of ancient and crumbling village overrun with dark ivy and large and tangled tree roots; it gives her a sense of familiarity, like the feeling you get when you go someplace that looks like something you've seen in a photo before. The canopy overhead is dark and densely interwoven, only allowing weak rays of watery sunlight through their boughs. The air is chilly and ominously still, like the forest creeping up on the collapsing structures is holding its breath. The stillness causes an uneasy shiver to travel down her spine and she feels as if she is being watched.

Cheyanne shakily stands to her feet and crosses her arms over her chest, the thin fabric of her worn t-shirt doing very little to keep out the chill. However, the temperature is the last thing on her mind. All she can think about is wondering how in God's green Earth she ended up in the middle of a dark and completely unfamiliar forest. Shaking her head and grunting to herself, she decides the only thing to be done is to walk and see if she can't find a way out of this forest. So, brushing a loose strand of dark hair away from her face, she does, leaving the dilapidated and somehow oddly familiar ruins behind.

Or at least she tries to.

The gigantic moss covered tree roots and the lack of any clear path makes it extremely hard to get anywhere but nowhere fast. Why do there have to be trees with roots whole feet taller than Cheyanne and a forest that seems out to get anyone that happens to stumble, or in her case, fall on her face in? She's lost count of how many times she's had to double back thanks to the roots looming up in the dimness. It feels like she's been wandering in circles for hours, but in actuality, only one has probably passed. To make things worse, the chilly air has sunken into her very bones and she desperately wishes she had thought to wear a sweater before settling down with a book in her backyard.

Just as the thought of home crosses her mind, Cheyanne stumbles through a thin layer of underbrush and finds herself tripping right back into the place she started.

Stepping into the center of the clearing, she does a quick circle and throws up her hands. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me!"

But in mid-motion, she freezes, her breath catching in her throat.

There, several yards to her right down a critter-trail she didn't notice before, are three.... Things.

The only word that comes to mind when she looks at them is monstrous. Their skin is a sickly blue and splotched with black, like hideous bruises. Their eyes are bulbous and yellow, set in misshapen skulls. Behind cruelly curled lips are jagged rock like teeth, broken and discolored. Their gaits are uneven and staccato, and their spines crooked, causing them to be half bent over like they carry an invisible weight on their backs.

Suddenly, the three of them stop in their tracks, hideous eyes bent on Cheyanne.

Her feet are moving before she even realizes it and she's sprinting in the opposite direction as fast as she can. Branches whip her face and arms and open up small, stinging cuts, but she barely feels it thanks to adrenaline pumping through her veins. Never in her whole life has she felt this terrified or run this fast. And the sound of those hideous things pursuing her, cackling and whooping, spurs her on like a cracking whip. They sound as if they are drawing closer with every step and Cheyanne forces her legs to go even faster, ignoring her protesting muscles and the increasing heaviness of her panicked breaths.

A huge root looms up in front of her and she screeches to a halt, leaves scattering beneath her heels. She only pauses a second before cutting to the left and forcing her way through the underbrush. Cheyanne hears those things behind her making an even bigger racket than she is, the sound of blade parting branches following their voices as they call after her. Cheyanne shoves interwoven limbs aside and struggles her way through bushes, ignoring the plants digging into her legs through her jeans and the stinging in her hands. After about thirty seconds of desperate struggling, Cheyanne breaks through the underbrush and low hanging tree limbs.

However, thanks to her forward momentum, she loses her balance and careens halfway into the small clearing, arms pinwheeling as she stumbles. Cheyanne's feet slip on the damp leaves strewn about and go right out from under her like she was trying run on ice. She lands on her hands and knees, stinging pain shooting up her limbs. Cheyanne scrambles back to her feet, her head whipping from side to side as she looks for a speedy way to get out of this situation. There are no clear paths, only the broken trail she made on her way in. She spins back around as the sound of her pursuers draws much, much closer. The underbrush before her waves wildly and the voices reach their peak before those monsters burst from the foliage.

Cheyanne freezes, eyes as wide as dinner plates as the monsters, blades gleaming dully in the weak light, shuffle closer to her.

"Well, well, well, what have we here?" The first monster's mouth twists into a cruel parody of a smile.

Cheyanne shrinks away as the three hideous creatures step closer to her, slowly fanning out like predators stalking their prey. Her throat constricts, trapping her voice in the form of a hard lump.

The creature on her right sizes her up, yellow eyes running down her body. "Interesting choice of apparel, missy. Seen nothing like that before." It gestures at her jeans with a twisted hand.

Cheyanne shrinks further under the creature's threatening tone of voice and scrutinization. She takes a step back, breathing heavy, heart pounding so hard in her chest, it's a wonder no one else can hear it.

This has to be a dream, some sick, demented dream.

The one farthest to her left lets out a strange clucking growl as it shifts its weight. "Do ya think she's the one?"

The first monster inches forward, head tilting this way and that, reminding Cheyanne of a bird of prey. "No sense in leaving her here." The monster's cruel smile returns. "Can't let the lost little bird fend for herself."

Broken and guttural laughter circulates between the three of them and, to Cheyanne's rapidly mounting horror, they slowly begin to converge. Cheyanne casts around wildly for anything, anything at all to defend herself with. She steps back from every step forward the monsters take, her panic mounting and mounting the tighter into a corner she becomes. Her brain races, desperate to think of a way out of this that doesn't end with her becoming a kebab. When Cheyanne's back presses against a large tree trunk and her fate nearly becomes sealed, her foot knocks into something solid. She looks down, realizing it's a good sized and thick tree branch. Without thinking, Cheyanne scoops it up and brandishes it.

"Back off!" Her knuckles are white around the branch, the bark digging into her skin. The sting helps ground her a little. "I mean it- stay away!"

The three of them stop just short of their blades touching Cheyanne's branch, but the leader directly in front of her begins to laugh, a hideous, twisted laugh. The other two follow suit and the longer they laugh at her, the more her terror rises. Her body decides she's had enough and her fight or flight instincts kick into overdrive. With a yell, she strikes out at the leader's head as hard as she can. The creature flinches away just enough to where the blow only glances off. Taking the opportunity, Cheyanne strikes again, this time hitting the arm of the monster on her right, causing its blade to thump to the leaf-strewn ground.

But before she can even think to run again, a grotesque arm curls around her midsection and presses her firmly against an armored body. She struggles for several seconds, crying out and flailing with the branch but the kiss of a cool blade against the side of her face makes her freeze immediately.

"Drop the branch, you stupid wench." The blade presses more and Cheyanne obediently allows the piece of wood to slip from her fingers.

The first monster she hit regains its bearings and bends a glare on her, it's lip curling away from its yellowed teeth. "Idiotic girl." The monster approaches her, blade raised in a threatening manner.

The remaining monster scoops up its weapon and spits on the ground at her feet. "Go on, cut up that pretty face! Teach her a lesson!"

The creature's arm tightens around her waist and its disgusting hot breath ghosts over her ear and the side of her face. "Didn't say nothing about unharmed, did he?"

Those demented smiles appear on their faces again and Cheyanne's stomach drops with dread. Time feels as if it slows down when the knife digs deeper into her skin, deep enough to begin parting flesh. Cheyanne cries out and begins to struggle, kicking her legs and flailing her arms wildly. The monster growls and draws the blade down, tearing open the soft flesh of Cheyanne's cheek.

Please, wake up, wake up!

Just as she makes her silent plea, a sharp whistling permeates the air, followed by a sickening thunk just beside Cheyanne's ear. The monster's arm around her slackens and the knife falls away from her face. She drops to her knees and twists around, eyes widening as she beholds the creature lying dead behind her.

The shaft of an arrow protrudes from its skull.

Cheyanne's head whips back around fast enough to nearly cause whiplash when another whistling sound cuts through the air. She watches in shock as this second arrow embeds deeply in the head of the next monster, causing it to drop dead to the ground. The remaining creature tries to run, but the third arrow is too fast. This one, too, falls to the ground, dead.

There are several moments of dead silence as Cheyanne's wheeling mind catches up with what just happened.

The blank eyes of the dead monsters stare into her soul and her stomach knots painfully when she notices black blood, as thick as syrup, leaks from around the arrows and onto the ground. The rancid smell reaches her nostrils, sharp and disgusting. The scent and sight twist her stomach sharply and Cheyanne turns to the side and vomits up the contents of her lunch.

When her stomach stops convulsing, Cheyanne draws the back of her hand across her mouth as she turns away from the mess. She looks numbly down at her hand when it comes away wet, red smeared across her knuckles.

Blood.

The stinging in her face kicks up ten notches when it occurs to her that she's bleeding. Cheyanne presses a hand to her face and looks around again, her heart rate picking up with a jolt. Someone shot those monsters and Cheyanne doesn't want to be kneeling completely defenseless on the ground when that person decides to show themselves. They've probably been watching her this whole time she's spent on the ground. With this thought in mind, Cheyanne stands shakily to her feet, avoiding looking at the prone bodies lying around her. She steadies herself on the tree behind her for a second before she picks up the discarded branch.

Clutching it in one hand and keeping the other pressed to her bleeding face, Cheyanne calls out in as strong a voice as she can manage. "Who's there?"

She immediately wants to slap herself. Who's there? Really? Way to be the stereotypical character that dies in the first five minutes of an episode of Supernatural.

There are several moments of silence and during that time Cheyanne is sure another arrow is going to fly through the air and end her life as swiftly as those creatures' lives. But instead, the foliage shrouding the way she came in moves softly and someone, with barely more than a whisper of leaves, steps out into the clearing.

[tgcf-en-abandoned]

Chapter 9

Translation at Sakhyulations!

We skip forth to cover chapter 9! I'll return to ch 6-8 after this one, and cover all the new chapters as they come. The chapter title is "The Mountain's Locked Ancient Temple, The Forest of Hanging Corpses". We have come across the temple in prior instalments; the forest of hanging corpses we shall probably soon encounter.

Fu Yao asks the correct question in an appropriate tone and doesn't roll his eyes even once! Your Honor, surely this consists ample proof that Fu Yao is the ghost bridegroom!

Little Ying's appeals to Xie Lian are understandable – he's the one who might best recognize her and doesn't seem to hate her like the village men do (did she turn down their best friend's marriage proposal? or do they just find her repulsive because she's ugly?). Then:

When they heard this, everyone began looking over to stare at him. There were even some people who started to whisper things. In bits and pieces, Xie Lian heard phrases like, ‘kink’, ‘different from ordinary people’, ‘I can’t believe it’.

OMG. The bystanders think Xie Lian kinks on crossdressing. This is hilarious. And even Fu Yao and Nan Feng inch away!

Ah, so it was only because Little Ying is an OP makeup artist and made Xie Lian look like a believable female model. And Fu Yao and Nan Feng have the hots for him. Ahahaha...

The temple sequestered behind the wards was for General Ming Guang and thus unusable, okay. And the villagers built the replacement temple for Nan Yang, huh. Interesting. Smells fishy.

Then the random bystanders decide that Xie Lian, Fu Yao, and Nan Feng just want the reward, and ignore all the instructions. One of the cons of people thinking they're just insane rather than believing they're Heavenly Officials. The youth who's out for the reward is quite efficient albeit ruthlessly profit-hawking but um maybe listen to the words of warning? Be more cautious in your grave-robbing!

I'm actually a bit suspicious about Little Ying. She seems cut from a very different cloth to the rest of the bystanders; she might not be what she seems. In any case, she tries to help Xie Lian advise the others to not be idiots and get themselves killed, but to even less avail than Xie Lian.

Fu Yao and Nan Feng react to the idiot locals quite differently: Nan Feng just wants to beat some sense into them, but restrains himself, while Fu Yao is content to let them die of their own stupidity.

While I do subscribe to the Wei Wuxian school of "IDGAF what happens to me after I'm dead", it's generally not a good idea to pinch corpses' cheeks. If only for the hygiene issues. The youngster gets punished by the bandage critter throwing a rock at him, but why the hell did Little Ying try to take the blame for that?

These chapters actually do a pretty good job illustrating that the people who take up the offer to retrieve people in exchange for a reward really aren't doing it for the sake of anything except profit. Spot how they treat Xie Lian like competition, rather than a potential ally. Of course, then they get blood on their faces in the creepiest forest imaginable.

Ah, Fu Yao and Nan Feng identify the thing responsible for the forest! A dude called the "Green Ghost" likes stringing corpses on trees.

The teenager with the butterflies was guarding Xie Lian from the blood-rain with the umbrella! A brief consultation with Fu Yao and Nan Feng reveals that the Ghost Bridegroom is at Wrath level, and the Green Ghost is at Wrath-edging-on-Devastation level, but Mr. Tender Walk Through The Forest is apparently too much for Fu Yao and Nan Feng to deal with. Also too bad for them to explain, which is not a good way to get Xie Lian to cooperate with you, guys.

Xie Lian explained, “The owner of those silver butterflies didn’t reveal any malice. And if he had been hiding his evil intentions and is truly as scary as you make him out to be, then I’m afraid it’ll be hard for us to escape him when we’re within the Mount Yu Jun range. At this time, it’s best if someone stays back and guards this place. That’s why, it’s better if you return first and see if you can help me by sending over a rescue squad.”

Words of truth. Fu Yao trusts him and leaves, Nan Feng boggles.

The bystanders actually catch someone? Huh. A young buy with his head and face wrapped in bandages; doesn't sound very scary. Little Ying is colluding with him, I think, but mainly to hide him.

Xie Lian takes pity on the rough treatment the boy's subjected to. Apparently he's suffered from burns all over the face, which: painful. Then Xie Lian FINALLY tires of the troublemaking youngster and slaps him around a bit. Take charge, Xie Lian!

Huh, the Green Ghost is Qi Rong, and the name Qi Rong holds significance to Xie Lian. I don’t think it’s come up yet; let’s see what Qi Rong signifies.

Mount Yu Jun seems quite the tourist destination with suspicious persons. Little Ying's kind, and wants to protect the boy who can't even speak. (Poor thing. Is that due to his injuries, or something deeper?)

We return to the mystery of why there aren't any Ming Guang temples, and finally we get to see Xie Lian make a connection! But in typical fashion, we end on a cliffhanger and don't get to see what connection he makes, lol.

Random speculation: the Ghost Bridegroom is setting up a trap of some sort. Perhaps he wants a Heavenly Official whose energy to sponge off of? IDK. Or the Ghost Bridegroom is actually a dead bride, the Patient Zero of the deadness on the wedding day epidemic, so to speak. Be glad Fu Yao sodded off to get help!

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[marbelmasnowshoe]

Forged in Flames (Part 3)

Three Years Later…

Marbelma’s light shined brightly as it traveled down her arms and into the end of her wooden hammer, before she slammed it against the draenei’s wooden shield.  After years of tutelage, not only was she stronger, faster, and a more adept fighter, but months of dedicated prayer, faith, and vindication paid off.  The Light not only manifested in her hands, but Marbelma found that it was strong with her.

She continued to hammer away on the other squire’s wooden shield until it finally shattered.  The young draenei woman cried in surprise as she fell over, the dwarf pouncing and jumping on her stomach like a trampoline, pointing the hammer into her face.  “I win.” she gloated.

“Well done, Marbelma.” Rhyliaandra congratulated from the sidelines.  She turned to the other Exodar Vindicator.  “Looks like your student still needs work, Jul.  She lost to an opponent half her size.”

Marbelma beamed with pride as she hopped off the draenei and hefted her hammer over her shoulder.  After the end of the War Against the Lich King, Rhyliaandra returned home to Azuremyst Isle, taking Marbelma with her, to continue the dwarf’s apprenticeship.  Marbles had a natural talent for combat.  Despite an obvious size disadvantage, she was able to overwhelm most of the other apprentice vindicators in sparring sessions though sheer fury.

But as the Lich King fell, a new threat had surfaced on Azeroth - literally.  Deathwing had broken out of his prison in Deepholm and tore the world asunder.  The situation got so bad, that many Alliance citizens flocked to the Exodar, seeking Prophet Velen’s council and guidance.  Velen was able to calm the situation before it got too out of hand - calming the humans enough to convince them to go home and face the new world wrought by this thing that was already being called “The Cataclysm.”

Marbelma burned.  The more she had heard over the last few months about events across Azeroth, the more she burned for action.  Entire regions hit hard by natural disasters.  New, unexplored territories revealed to the world.  A mysterious new threat, known as the Twilight’s Hammer, acting as Deathwing’s army, enslaving elementals and setting them loose on the world.

But what burned Marbelma most were the tales of renewed Horde aggression.  A new “Warchief” had risen to power and was deadset on making the world his.  His armies were tearing apart the ancestral home of the night elves, friends and allies to the draenei ever since they crash-landed on Azeroth.  They’d continue marching north, all the way to Teldrassil, and even to Azuremyst Isle unless someone stops them.

Rhyliaandra had made it clear to Marbelma that they were to wait until called.  Someone had to watch the homefront, after all.  But the thought of sitting here and waiting made her feel useless.

She hated feeling useless.  Helpless.  Cowering in a closet while the ones you cared about are slaughtered.  Marbelma vowed never again to hide and cower.

Roniaar trotted up to Rhyliaandra and Marbelma as they wrapped up their training session.  “Arkanon Poros, friends!” the shaman greeted.  “How goes the training?”

“Well.” Rhyliaandra curtly replied.  She always seemed to hold her brother in disdain, and Marbelma didn’t exactly blame her.  The dwarf had nothing against shamanism - Roniaar proved the effectiveness of elemental combat back in Northrend.  Rather, it was Roniaar himself that the dwarf was beginning to find grating.  The drinking, the womanizing, the horrible puns - the man was an unapologetic hedonist.  No wonder he chose the path of the shaman - he never would’ve cut it as a paladin.

“Well, I’ve got some news - you’ve been summoned to battle.” Roniaar said as she handed his vindicator sister a scroll.  As Rhyliaandra took the scroll and read it, Marbelma could barely contain her excitement.  Finally!  Back on the front lines!

“Where we goin’?” Marbelma asked.

“Somewhere that isn’t too far from here.” Roniaar replied.  “Mount Hyjal.  The druids there have created a portal into the Firelands and are preparing to defeat Ragnaros the Firelord once and for all.”

Ragnaros?  Wasn’t he the one the Dark Irons worshipped?  Marbelma would get to kill the god of a hated enemy of the Bronzebeard clan?  Sounds good to her!

“It says here we’ll be with the rear guard.” Rhyliaandra said.  “It will fall to us to protect Hyjal from counterattack by Ragnaros’s forces?”

“Indeed.” Roniaar replied.

“Rear guard?” Marbelma asked, a little disappointed.

“Don’t worry, Marbles.  The fire elementals’ counterattacks have been vicious.  There will be no shortage of action on either side of the portal.” Roniaar explained.  He smiled.

“In fact, you could say the situation up there is really heating up.”

Marbelma and Rhyliaandra both groaned.

One trip to a mage and a portal later, the three of them arrived on Mount Hyjal.  Marbelma strained her neck looking up and up and up at the world tree, Nordrassil.  It lived up to its title, being perhaps the single tallest thing she had ever seen.  There was little time to sight-see, however, as the two draenei hopped atop their elekks and began their long march down the mountain road, with Marbelma riding along with Rhyliaandra on her elekk, which was more heavily armored than Roniaar’s.

Through the Circle of Cinders, past the Shrine of Goldrinn and the Grove of Aessina, before finally arriving at the Sanctuary of Malorne, the makeshift base of operations for the Guardians of Hyjal.  Night had fallen, but it was already time to go to work.  The three of them were told to head into the regrowth and rescue as much wildlife as they could from the encroaching fire elementals.

Not since Northrend had Marbelma seen Rhyliaandra leap into action, cutting down the fiery spirits with the Light’s wrath.  Roniaar was no slouch either, calling upon the powers of the wind to snuff out the flames.  The two draenei siblings shepherded the fleeing wildlife out of the forest and towards the Sanctuary of Malorne.  Marbelma saw everything from tiny little squirrels to majestic stags to mighty grizzly bears, all fleeing before the advancing flames.

She stayed mostly to the sidelines.  Officially, her job was to watch the elekks, but she suspected the great beasts were watching her just as closely.  It didn’t take her long to develop an admiration for the strange-looking beasts that hailed from the draenei’s old home, Draenor, before the Horde came and ruined everything for them.  Seemed like the Horde ruined everything for everyone.

And yet…

In the distance, she could spot Horde.  They were fighting fire elementals too - brutish orcs and crafty blood elves fighting alongside noble humans and nature-loving night elves.  She didn’t know how to feel about it.  On the one hand, she supposed the Guardians of Hyjal could use all the help if could get and it was nice to see those damn savages making themselves useful for once.  But the Alliance and Horde were at war, weren’t they?  Why the truce?

Once the two draenei came over for a break and sharpen their weapons, Marbelma asked them just that.  “Simple - it’s because both Alliance and Horde realize that there’s BIGGER things to worry about.” Roniaar answered.  “Which, at the moment, happens to be an invasion of angry fire people.”

“Yes, it’s always SOMETHING, I’ve noticed.” Rhyliaandra scoffed.  “First it was demons trying to open a gateway in the sunwell.  Then it was undead up in Northrend.  And now it’s an army of cultists and elementals lead by a mad dragon aspect.  Why must we cease our crusade against the Horde every time a so-called ‘greater threat’ emerges?”

“Because the greater threat is usually exactly that - a [i]greater[/i] threat.” Roniaar argued.  “Being more concerned with the Horde than with this is like being more concerned with a stain on your shirt than your house on fire.”

“But it [i]keeps happening.[/i]” Rhyliaandra seethed.  “Don’t you get it?  Every truce we forge is nothing more than a delay of the final blow.  I grow weary of this endless stalemate between Alliance and Horde.  Why don’t we just finish it already?”

“Well, Deathwing is the one who’s insisting on interrupting our little war with his campaign to destroy the world.  So, if you’ve got a problem with the truce, take it up with him.” Roniaar said.

“It doesn’t surprise me that you would advocate working with those creatures.” Rhyliaandra growled.

“Uh, guys?”

“What’s THAT supposed to mean?” Roniaar asked.

“Bad enough you practice shamanism, an orcish magic, but you actually WORK for those monsters.” Rhyliaandra accused.

“We’ve been over this, Rhyli - I don’t work for the Horde, I work for the Earthen Ring.  Big difference.”

“Semantics!  How could you work with those green-skinned fiends?  After everything they’ve done to our people!  To all the Alliance!”

“Guys.”

“Because I don’t waste time dwelling on the past, Rhyliaandra.  Hating the Horde isn’t going to bring back mother and father.”

“Well, working with the Horde won’t bring [i]her[/i] back either, Roniaar.”

“Who’s her?”

“Oh, I think you know who.  Did you really think that I wouldn’t - “

“Guys!”

“What?!” the two draenei shouted at Marbelma.  The dwarf pointed over to a particularly large fire elemental burning its way through the forest in the distance, sending dozens of beasts and critters running for cover.

“We can discuss this later.” Roniaar said as he hopped atop his elekk, Rhyliaandra hopping atop hers and carrying Marbelma with her.  A snap of the reigns and the two large beats stampeded their way into battle with all the confidence that came with being a ten thousand pound mammal.

Rhyliaandra’s elekk crashed into the hulking elemental while Roniaar’s chose to circle around as the shaman blasted the creature with bolts of lightning.  The elemental roared as it directed its fury towards the two upstart draenei.  Marbelma, no longer content to simply stay on the sidelines, took the risk of heading in closer to the action.

In her eagerness however, she tripped on something.  She fell to the ground hard and looked over at what had tripped her.  A branch, maybe?  A root?

It was a corpse.

She had tripped on the talon of a charred hippogryph corpse.  She gasped as she saw what the flames had done to the once-majestic beast.  She saw many hippogryphs used by the Argent Crusade during the Argent Tournament, and she always thought they were beautiful animals.  Her heart wept to see one like this.

But how did it die?  Hippogryphs should be the ones most capable of escaping the flames, what with the flying and all.  She looked around spotted her answer - a nest, high up in the tree above her.  This hippogryph must’ve been a mother, unwilling to abandon her eggs, even in the face of this inferno.

She cast a glance over to Rhyliaandra and Roniaar, still fighting the massive elemental.  They were holding their own well enough - she’s seen them both fight off worse.  They hardly needed her help.  She was just a squire, after all.

But a squire can still climb a tree.

You wouldn’t think of dwarves as being able climbers, with their stout physiques and all, but that’s because you’ve never seen one climb a mountain before.  Climbing was an essential skill just for day-to-day survival up in the peaks of Dun Morogh.  So this tree posed little challenge to Marbelma, even if it was a little on fire.

Marbelma finally reached the nest and saw the prize - a single, lonely egg.  It was surrounded by the busted shells of its siblings, little baby hippogryph corpses still in them.  This egg was lucky enough to still be intact.  Marbelma reached out for it, and grabbed it.  It was hot to the touch, but she could handle a little heat.  She stuck the egg in her backpack and began to climb down.

And that’s when she noticed the fire elemental staring her down.

Somehow, it had stomped over without the young dwarf hearing it.  She panicked and looked around.  Where was Rhyliaandra?  Or Roniaar?  She spotted them fighting off a pack of those fire snake things.  Where did those guys come from?

“You…” the elemental said in a booming voice.  “Are a child of fire…”

“What?!” Marbelma asked.

“The Rage of the Firelands burns within you…” it said slowly.

“What are ye on about ye overgrown pilot light?!” Marbelma shouted, hoping that an insult will mask her terror.

“Embrace your destiny, as your kin have…” it said.  “Serve the Firelord…And all those who have wronged you will burn…”

Marbelma growled.  “I don’t even know what yer talkin’ about, but I’ll never join you!  I’m a paladin!  And a paladin never joins the side of evil!” she shouted at the creature.  She left out the part that she was only a squire.  It didn’t need to know that.

“Then burn…” The elemental said as it raised up a huge fiery fist.  Suddenly, a bolt of lightning from above struck the elemental in the face.  Marbelma looked up and saw Roniaar, riding atop his wind drake - a strange sort of dragon that the shaman somehow acquired in the Throne of Four Winds a few months back. 

“Hold on, Marbles!” Roniaar cried as he conjured a torrent of wind to lift up Marbelma from the tree and carry her a safe distance.  “Head back to the Sanctuary!”

As she landed safely on the ground, she saw Roniaar’s drake dart around the elemental’s head as he continued firing lightning bolts at the massive creature.  What was that thing even talking about, calling her a “child of fire?”  She didn’t know.  All she knew was that it wasn’t safe here.

She looked inside her bag, satisfied that the hippogryph egg was still whole and in one piece.  She smiled.  She saved a life today, at least.  No doubt Rhyliaandra will give her a good lecture about it once the fighting subsides, but it’ll be worth it.  She closed the pack and ran for the Sanctuary of Malorne as fast as he little dwarven legs could carry her.

[sageinthegarden]

A new snapshot from https://sagesacre.com/2021/05/15/how-to-make-a-butterfly-house/

How to Make A Butterfly House

Sometimes called a hibernation box, butterfly houses are simple, inexpensive, and attractive shelters for critters in your garden. Here’s how to build one for about $3.

The butterfly house mounted over the butterfly garden

Part of maintaining an organic and sustainable garden is attracting insects who do the important work of pollination. Bees are an obvious go-to, and the European honey and the native carpenter and mason bees are both common sights here. Less common, but far more colorful, are the many different types of butterflies native to the area (with the exception of the Monarch, pretty much all the butterflies here in San Diego live throughout North America).

A giant swallowtail butterfly on a calendula

A green-veined white butterfly on lavender

A pained lady butterfly on flowering rue

We plant a variety of flowers and herbs to attract butterflies and even have a dedicated butterfly garden filled with their favorite foods, but I never gave any thought to where butterflies go when they need shelter, so when my wife showed me something called a “butterfly house” that’s supposed to give them cover from birds and other predators, I was intrigued.

A butterfly house, also known as a hibernation box or insect shelter, is basically a tall, narrow box with slots insects can get in, but birds, bats and larger animals can’t. From what I read, it’s actually not particularly good at attracting butterflies (they prefer the canopy of trees and leafy shrubs), but I read the same thing about Insect Hotels, and the one I built has been quite popular with the local critter crowd. So, I figured, “what the heck, I’ll make one.”

Digging around for instructions on the Internet, I found that a pre-built box can cost $30 or more, but if you build one yourself, it’ll cost only a tiny fraction of that — like $3 and change. Better yet, you can put it together with nothing more than a drill, a hand saw and a hammer in just a couple hours. Here’s how:

Supplies

1 – 5½-in. x 72-in. unfinished cedar fence board

4 – 1¼-in. wood screws

1½-in. finish nails

Wood glue

Instructions

Instructions for a flat roof and peaked roof butterfly house

There are two versions of the butterfly house, one with a flat roof, and the other with a peaked roof. The flat roof is a little easier to build; the peaked roof a little fancier. They both use the same amount of wood, so it’s entirely up to you which one you want to do.

Step 1 – Cut your pieces

Make the following cuts from your cedar fence board:

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For the Flat Roof version

4 – 14-in. long (these will be the front, back and sides)

1 – 4½-in. long (for the bottom)

1 – 8-in. long (for the top)

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For the Peaked Roof version

2 – 14-in. long (front and back)

2 – 11¼-in. long (the sides)

1 – 4½-in. long (for the bottom)

1 – 6-in. long (half the roof)

1 – 5½-in. long (the other half of the roof)

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Step 2 – Trim your side boards and bottom

Once you have the main pieces cut, you need to trim 1-in. off width of the sides and bottom pieces. For the sides of the Flat Roof, that’s two of the 14-in. long pieces; for the peaked roof it’s the the two 11¼-in. pieces.

Trim the edge of the side boards and bottom

(Step 2a – For the Peaked Roof only)

On your front and back pieces, mark the top vertical center of the board (at 2¾-in.), then draw a line horizontally 11¼-in. up from the bottom. Using a straight edge, draw a line from the top center to both edges of the board where you made the horizontal line.

Trim the front and back boards to make the peaked roof

Use a saw to cut off the corners of the board to make your roof peaks.

Step 3 – Cut your slots in the front piece

Mark the location of where your slots will go on the front piece. They need to be at least 4-in. long and no wider than ½-in. (I used a 3/8-in. drill bit to size the holes).

Marking where the slotted openings will go on the front

It doesn’t really matter how many slots — 2 to 4 is fine — bugs aren’t picky, just as long as they’ve got enough enclosed space to hide.

Drilling the holes in the front for the slots

After cutting the slots in the front

Using your drill, drill a hole at the top and the bottom of where your slots will go. Then, using a hacksaw, jig or coping saw, cut the slots out between the holes.

Step 4 – Build the box

The sides are cut to fit inside the front and back pieces. Run a bead of glue along the edge of a side piece, align it with the bottom of the front piece, and nail it together with a few finish nails. Repeat for the back piece and the other side.

Butterfly house assembly – side view

Once you’ve got the four pieces nailed together, add a little glue to the edge of the bottom piece, slide it in place and tack it in place with a few more finish nails.

The box with the four sides and bottom

Step 5 – Add the roof

You’ll be screwing, but not gluing the roof on the box. This is so you can remove the top and clean the box out every so often.

Closeup of butterfly house roof(s)

For the Flat Roof version Align the front and back of your roof piece on the box. Then, using a tape measure, slide the roof over until you have a 1¾-in. overhang on both sides.

Using your wood screws, screw the roof to the top of the box.

For the Peaked Roof version Align the shorter roof piece (the 5½-in. piece) with the top of the roof peak. Screw one wood screw into both sides to hold it in place.

Now take the longer roof piece and align the long edge (the 6” one) of the board so it overlaps the shorter roof piece you just attached to the top (see the illustration).

Use your other two screws to attach this half of the roof.

Butterfly house with the roof

Step 6 – Decorate (if you want to)

You can leave the wood unfinished and let it weather naturally, or, if you’re so inclined, paint the outside. Either way, leave the inside unfinished.

My wife felt it was too bland as bare wood, so I made the roof barn red and painted the rest a murky sage green to match our house trim.

The butterfly house after painting

When she felt it was still too bland,she gave me a metal butterfly ornament she picked up at the dollar store and had me attach it to the front (you know, so the butterflies would know the house is for them).

Step 7 – Mount

The butterfly house complete with decorative butterfly

You can mount the butterfly house on a pole or beam. It just needs to be at least 4 feet off the ground. A shady or lightly covered area with water and/or a food source nearby is preferable, as those will draw the butterflies and make the house more likely to be found.

I mounted mine using an “L” bracket and a zip tie on a pole that’s surrounded by a small guava and overlooks a portion of the butterfly and tropical gardens.

Is it working?

In the week that it’s been up, I’ve seen a couple of butterflies near it (a morning cloak today!), but so far, no takers on the free housing — at least as far as I can tell.

No worries, there’s a whole summer and an autumn still ahead, so I think the chances are good that we’ll get residents of one sort or another before winter arrives.

Fingers crossed!

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[sciencespies]

These Tiny, Little-Winged Dinosaurs Were Probably Worse at Flying Than Chickens

https://sciencespies.com/nature/these-tiny-little-winged-dinosaurs-were-probably-worse-at-flying-than-chickens/

These Tiny, Little-Winged Dinosaurs Were Probably Worse at Flying Than Chickens

The discovery of two small dinosaurs with bat-like wings a few years ago was a palaeontologist’s dream. Just how flight evolved in birds is something we’re still trying to nail down, and looking at this early evolution of bat-like wings in dinosaurs could give us a clue.  

But a team of researchers has now pointed out that just because you have wings, it doesn’t necessarily mean you’re actually any good at flying.

Yi qi and Ambopteryx longibrachium are two species of theropod dinosaurs that lived around 160 million years ago, both of which had unusually elongated fingers, and a skin membrane stretching between them, similar to a bat’s wing.

This is an entirely different kind of wing to the one theropod dinosaurs evolved to fly with – the dinosaurs that eventually became birds. And, unlike them, after only a few million years, Yi and Ambopteryx became extinct, which is the first hint that these unusual wings could not match those birds-to-be. 

However, weird wings on extinct critters mean it’s likely multiple types of wings (and therefore flight) evolved over the years, and that Yi and Ambopteryx’s attempts were not the winning strategy.

But before you can write off Yi and Ambopteryx as complete evolutionary flight failures, you have to know how good (or bad, as the case may be) the two species were at flight.

In 2015, when Yi was found, that team of researchers suggested that the size of its wings and other flight characteristics could mean it was a gliding creature – however it’s unlike any other glider we know of, and its centre of mass might have made even gliding difficult. We just weren’t sure.

A new study, by researchers in the US and China, has now looked into the flight potential of Yi and Ambopteryx in a lot more detail, and come to the conclusion that they really weren’t good at getting their little feet off the trees they lived in.

“Using laser-stimulated fluorescence imaging, we re-evaluate their anatomy and perform aerodynamic calculations covering flight potential, other wing-based behaviours, and gliding capabilities,” the team writes.

“We find that Yi and Ambopteryx were likely arboreal, highly unlikely to have any form of powered flight, and had significant deficiencies in flapping-based locomotion and limited gliding abilities.”

The team’s analysis of the fossils (Yi pictured below) was able to pick up tiny details in soft-tissue that you can’t see with normal light.

Fossil of Yi qi. Look how fluffy it is! (kmkmks/Flickr/CC BY SA 2.0)

Then the team modelled how the dinosaurs might have flown, adjusting for things such as weight, wingspan, and muscle placement (all stuff we can’t tell just from the fossils).

The results were… underwhelming.

“They really can’t do powered flight,” says first author, biologist Thomas Dececchi from Mount Marty University.

“You have to give them extremely generous assumptions in how they can flap their wings. You basically have to model them as the biggest bat, make them the lightest weight, make them flap as fast as a really fast bird, and give them muscles higher than they were likely to have had to cross that threshold. They could glide, but even their gliding wasn’t great.”

Soft-tissue map of Yi qi. (Dececchi et al., iScience, 2020)

So, according to Dececchi and his team’s model, we’re looking at flying capabilities considerably worse than a chicken, perhaps worse than the flightless New Zealand parrot, the kakapo, which is also mostly limited to gliding from trees, but can at least flap to control descent.

But although it’s a bit sad for the Yi and Ambopteryx, it’s good news for us – the findings give even more evidence that dinosaurs evolved flight (or at least tried to) multiple times.

As the team points out, considering all the types of bats, gliders, flying squirrels, and other gliding or flying mammals, maybe it shouldn’t be a surprise.

“We propose that this clade was an independent colonisation of the aerial realm for non-avialan theropods. If true, this would represent at least two, but more likely three or more attempts at flight (both powered and gliding) by small pennaraptoran theropods during the Mesozoic,” the team writes in their paper.

“Given the large number of independent occurrences of gliding flight within crown mammals, this should perhaps be unsurprising, but it does create a more complex picture of the aerial ecosystem.”

Seems like some things don’t change much, even in a hundred million years.

The research has been published in iScience.

#Nature

[docayin-blog]

The Best Summer Trail Camera Strategy

The most prominent trail camera strategy in today’s deer-o-sphere is using them to confirm what a hunter already suspects about local whitetails. This is why so many of us mount cameras over standing soybean fields or the edges of food plots in July. We know bucks feed regularly in those spots, and we want to get pictures of them.

It’s pretty simple, really, but often not all that productive. If you’ve got a property locked up and know that no one will come in and mess with the summer patterns, then yes, you can plan a strategy around those images. But be honest, you were going to hunt those spots anyway, because they’re no-brainer locations for early-season bowhunting setups.

The problem with scouting that way is that it works with a good summer destination food source — but then, those patterns crumble just before or right after you get your first chance to slip in with a bow and try to intercept a target buck. This is where trail cameras can hurt us if we’re not careful.

It’s easy to hunt on memory, but a buck that has bailed on his summer food pattern isn’t likely to return to it in a way that will allow you to encounter him during shooting hours. This is especially true if you’re hunting pressured ground, whether public or private.

A better bet with scouting cameras is to use them to figure out what is going on in the places where you’re really not sure what the activity level is, or to sort out the routes target bucks are taking as they travel to/from food sources. Practically speaking, this is what scouting is all about, and it’s possible with the right camera strategy.

KILLABLE DEER IN HUNTABLE SPOTS

The idea obviously is to identify good bucks that might be moving during legal shooting hours, then pin down locations you can sneak into, and actually hunt, correctly. Doing so isn’t nearly as easy as we’d like to believe, though. If it were, success rates would be much, much higher.

Each year I hunt whitetails on public land in four or five states, and if there’s one thing I find consistently, it’s that the easy spots are nearly always worthless to hunt outside the hottest part of the rut. The better bucks I see, and occasionally arrow, almost always have made the mistake of moving during daylight either on a travel route or in a staging area, both of which will be in security cover.

While some big bucks seem to be terribly ensconced in a nocturnal lifestyle, most aren’t. They just don’t move a whole lot during daylight in any place but their favorite sanctuaries. This information matters, because those might be the only spots in which you’ll ever encounter them with enough daylight to get a legal shot.

These spots will almost always relate to a destination food source. That’s true even in the Northwoods, where there isn’t an agricultural field or food plot within miles. The deer usually have a feeding place in mind, but they’ll take their sweet time getting there — and most often, you’ll run out the clock before they poke their nose into any open areas.

So while the soybean field on your farm or parcel of public land is where the bucks will probably end up each night, how they get there and how they leave are what matter most to us hunters. The same goes for the oak ridge in the big woods or an irrigated alfalfa field out west.

My typical strategy is to start at the most obvious destination food sources and place cameras in the first patch of good cover off them, hanging in what appear to be high-traffic spots. This might be a ditch or ravine crossing or simply a trail carved down the face of a bluff. Regardless, the idea is to get an idea of which deer are moving through the cover near the most obvious food.

It’s important to remember here that the July woods can look a lot different from the September woods, and another thing entirely when you consider November. The first, most likely staging area off the food will last until the leaves drop or hunting pressure on the field edges pushes the deer deeper, or maybe persuades them to stay even farther back.

NO DICE…NOW WHAT?

The reason many of us don’t want to engage in this strategy is we won’t run in danger of having our SD cards maxed out with images. In fact, you might not capture anything that gets you excited. That’s a bummer, but it’s important. Eliminating dead ends isn’t as exciting as checking your camera and realizing that a herd of Booners has been traipsing through every day, but it’s also not nothing. Knowing where not to hunt matters, because it allows you to focus your efforts elsewhere.

This is why I try to run at least a couple trail cameras in question-mark locations. The idea is to figure out travel patterns in the cover, but you also must weigh the value of that information against how often you’ll slip in to check cameras and thus disturb the area. (That assumes you aren’t using a cellular camera, which eliminates the need to visit the spot regularly.)

If possible, I try to time my camera checks around rainstorms, but that’s far from a reliable strategy for minimizing disturbance. Instead, I force myself to give a camera at least a month in any given spot during the summer scouting period. Leaving a trail cam to “soak” in a spot for a minimum of four weeks means the deer will have plenty of time to get used to it, and all kinds of weather and the accompanying fronts will pass in that time. This allows me to compare deer movement to conditions and decide if there’s anything worth really paying attention to there.

If I do capture a good buck doing his thing a few times, it also gives me enough time to try to hang some more cameras and attempt to further pin down his daily habits. This is where different trains of thought merge onto the same track. Most of us think nailing down an exact buck’s routes is the goal, and it’s easy to slip into the mindset that deer do pretty much the same thing every day. But while they’re habitual critters, they don’t walk the same trails and utilize the same beds day after day unless they’re very comfortable in one given spot.

For most of us, those spots are behind plenty of “No Trespassing” signs and come with a serious price tag. The reality is, whitetails travel through their world in relation to the conditions and how they’ll be able to use their senses to stay safe. This means the buck that walks down a specific trail once a week is going somewhere else the other six days. Where are they? Ask yourself questions and try to answer them with long-range observation and more camera work.

For example, even though the travel pattern of a good buck on a specific ditch crossing might seem random, it probably isn’t. Think about where he’s coming from and where he’s going. Maybe there’s a pond tucked into the timber 200 yards away. Is he visiting it to get a drink? A well-placed camera can tell you.

Maybe the buck surprises you one evening as you’re swatting mosquitoes and looking through the spotting scope at a green bean field on your farm. Instead of emerging from the woods the way most of the other deer do, he pops up in a grassy swale on your neighbor’s property and hops a fence to reach the groceries where you can hunt.

All such in-person observations and clues gathered by your cameras will allow you to start homing in on an area that your target buck prefers. And that matters — a lot.

THE RIGHT NEIGHBORHOOD

While scouting for bow season we always strive to identify the exact tree from which we’ll arrow a good buck, during mid-summer we’re really just trying to pinpoint his preferred territory. Due to the fact so much can change from July or August to opening morning of the archery season, the idea is to get in the right neighborhood without letting the buck know you’re onto him.

This will allow you to set up a strategy for hunting the early season, but also be careful enough to preserve a buck’s safe zones until you need to slip in. Naturally, this is easier if you’re hunting private ground with limited pressure but is also a possibility on public land. You just need to understand there are no guarantees with the latter category, but that doesn’t give you an excuse to push it in a specific area.

What I’ve found through extensive camera work and summer scouting missions is that the areas I identify as hotspots for specific bucks in July are usually pretty close to where those bucks will be in September. There seems to be a big change in deer movement at that time, but a lot of it is simply that the big buck is becoming more cautious and not running into a field in broad daylight to munch away with his buddies.

That’s OK, though. If you run a practical camera strategy this summer, you’ll know where to set up off the easy food sources yourself. You’ll be able to tease out useful threads from the tapestry that is a buck’s daily habits, so you’ll know where to go even if the easy daylight activity dies on you.

Your Plan B will be way more well-thought-out than your hunting competition’s. So as you slip into a staging area or along a trail you know a specific buck uses under those conditions, you’ll have a better chance of filling an early-season tag.

IN CONCLUSION

Use cameras wisely. Your summer scouting mission isn’t finished just because you put out a bunch of cameras in June. Check them once a month and tweak their locations as needed in order to figure out why the local bucks are doing what they’re doing.

Tie that camera work into some long-range glassing and eventually you’ll start to see patterns emerge with specific bucks and how they conduct themselves on a daily basis. At that point, you’ll be in a good spot to get in and make the most of your early-season sits.

[juliekirsova5-blog]

Recommendations For Future Lunar Prospectors.

BOGOR, Indonesia (Reuters) - South Korean Head Of State Moon Jae-in on Thursday revealed a brand new plan intended sportportal-2017.info for strengthening associations along with Southeast Asia, as the North Oriental economic giant looks for to suppress its own dependence on standard investing companions like China as well as the United States. The video recording goes on to create the claim that the pictures of a small dent in the surface area of the moon could be providing cover for existing manners" for extraterrestrial critters. The United States and Canada's moon nicknames are adjusted from United States Indian phrases for the moons. Probably a good idea, looking at how eager this is actually and also just how no one is totally sure ways to result in those manned missions to Mars at this point. It does not matter how good the positions from the worlds at the moment from such an operation, they won't change the physical body's ailment. A lot of others speak deferentially to me. My great partner looketh upon me with an illumination in her eyes that doth make a guy have confidence in themselves. This could merely be predicted if u possesses a great Know-how about the celebrities and the expanded.

Stardew Lowland is actually a RPG farming game that undoubtedly has several resemblances to the Produce Moon activity series. In my expertise the rudiments are actually the only thing that are actually needed, and also acquiring definitely engageded in the moon and sportfishing isn't really required. People enjoy their vacation wearing the brand-new dress as well as through playing chess as well as cards with their friends and family as well as paying homage to the Sun and the Moon gods. As well as that makes best feeling in order to get a Moon Celebrity Tattoo to represent our Interstellar links from the heavens above. You will certainly need to practice a little in order to get it right, and see which plants grow far better for you in each indication and also Moon phase. The '69 moon landing certainly never occurred and you may misguide on your own however the reality is actually on the market. New Leaf is actually available on the Nintendo 3DS as well as is the perfect mobile game like Harvesting Moon. Remember the moon too is fairly a good source of illumination, specifically the moon, which is best avoided. While examining a horoscope or even while forecasting the future of a person, all these 5 elements in addition to the 12 moon signs and also the 27 below indications are considered. Reaching for brilliance coincides as grabbing the moon while standing on Mount Everest. Individuals who produce Moon Money appear to become very tight-lipped concerning the precise formula as well as ingredients for producing the dough, this is actually barely unusual as the item is doing so well. Therefore, it will certainly grow dimmer, yet not by as much as it will if the penumbra dropped around the entire skin from the moon. I am actually visiting say no, considering that the Moon doesn't manufacture its very own light so our experts may only view it when the Sun sparkles on it.