Opening line: 1. e4 e5 2. c3
Opening name: King's Pawn Game MacLeod Attack
Board image: https://i.imgur.com/bxVBzKq.png
Lichess board: https://lichess.org/analysis/pgn/1.+e4+e5+2.+c3++
Wikibooks page: https://en.wikibooks.org/wiki/Chess_Opening_Theory/1._e4/1...e5/2._c3
Winning percenatages:
White: 4 (21.05%)
Black: 7 (36.84%)
Draws: 8 (42.11%)
Lopez Opening or MacLeod Attack
White's second move prepares to push a pawn to d4, establishing a pawn center. However the idea is too slow as Black can respond vigorously with 2...d5 to eliminate transpositional possibilities. After 1.e4 e5 2.c3 d5 3.exd5 Qxd5 there is no 4.Nc3 to chase the queen away and gain a tempo.
No known responses found
Engine Evaluation
Depth: 46
Score: -0.33
Best Move: d5
PV Line: 1. e4 e5 2. c3 d5 3. d3 Nf6 4. Nf3 dxe4 5. Nxe5 Nbd7 6. Nxd7 Qxd7 7. Bg5
Puzzles based around King's Pawn Game MacLeod Attack
https://lichess.org/training/Kings_Pawn_Game_MacLeod_Attack
Historical games for King's Pawn Game MacLeod Attack

Game	Result	Year
Tate, Emory (2390) vs Van den Doel, Erik (2593)	0-1	2008
Kolanek, Roman (2508) vs Król, Wladyslaw (2391)	1/2-1/2	2006
Mitkov, Nikola (2505) vs Martinez Martin, David (2390)	0-1	1999
Lazic, Miroljub (2465) vs Nikac, Predrag (2379)	1/2-1/2	2001
Moreira, José Américo Paiva (2443) vs Jansen, Joop (2397)	0-1	2005
Rausis, Igors (2495) vs Blum, Gernot (2225)	1-0	1994
Mozes, Ervin (2320) vs Dumitrache, Dragos Nicolae (2385)	1/2-1/2	1998
Handoko, Edhi (2500) vs Tsang Hon Ki (2200)	1-0	1995
Bustos, Jacinto (2255) vs David, Alberto (2380)	0-1	1993
Pastor Alonso de Prado, Emilio Alberto (2212) vs Roa Alonso, Santiago (2418)	0-1	2007

The Blockchain Association and the DeFi Education Fund have become the latest industry advocates to file their support of Coin Center’s lawsuit against the United States Treasury over its “unlawful” sanctions against Tornado Cash.
On June 2, the two cryptocurrency industry advocacy groups filed a joint amicus brief in support of Coin Center, arguing that the U.S. sanctions against the crypto mixer should be dropped.
Read Full

We all dream that our health should always be good and we should live our life smilingly but with time it becomes very difficult to maintain bone health. If we want to keep our health good for a long time, then our bones play an important role in it, but with time and change in age, it has been seen many times that our bones are not as strong as before.
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A balanced and nutrient-rich diet is crucial for promoting optimal bone health. Calcium and vitamin D are essential for bone strength. Incorporate calcium-rich foods like dairy products, leafy greens, and fortified cereals into your diet. To enhance calcium absorption, make sure to get adequate sunlight or consider taking vitamin D supplements.

1. Include Vitamin K:

Vitamin K plays a vital role in bone health as it helps produce proteins necessary for bone formation. Green leafy vegetables, broccoli, Brussels sprouts, and fermented foods like sauerkraut are excellent sources of vitamin K. Including these foods in your diet can contribute to stronger bones.

1. Engage in Weight-Bearing Exercises:

Weight-bearing exercises stimulate bone formation and help maintain bone density. Activities such as walking, jogging, dancing, and weightlifting put stress on the bones, which prompts them to become stronger. Aim for at least 30 minutes of weight-bearing exercises most days of the week to reap the benefits.

1. Incorporate Strength Training:

Strength training exercises are particularly beneficial for bone health. Lifting weights or resistance bands helps build muscle mass, which strengthens the bones. Focus on exercises that target major muscle groups, such as squats, lunges, push-ups, and bicep curls. Start with light weights and gradually increase as your strength improves.

1. Quit Smoking and Limit Alcohol Consumption:

Smoking and excessive alcohol consumption can negatively impact bone health. Smoking reduces blood flow to the bones, impairs calcium absorption, and decreases estrogen levels in women, leading to increased bone loss. Similarly, excessive alcohol intake interferes with calcium absorption and disrupts bone formation. Quitting smoking and limiting alcohol consumption will significantly benefit your bone health.

1. Maintain a Healthy Body Weight:

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1. Ensure Adequate Calcium and Vitamin D Intake:

Calcium and vitamin D are essential nutrients for bone health. While calcium provides the building blocks for bones, vitamin D aids in its absorption. If your diet lacks sufficient amounts of calcium and vitamin D, consider taking supplements after consulting with your healthcare provider.

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Conclusion:

Improving bone health is a lifelong process that requires consistent effort and a holistic approach. By adopting a nutrient-rich diet, engaging in weight-bearing exercises, incorporating strength training, and avoiding harmful habits, you can significantly enhance your bone strength and reduce the risk of bone-related conditions. Remember, it's always early enough to start prioritizing your bone health. Take care of your bones, and they will support you throughout your life.

The essence of finance is to maximize its utility through the integration of funds and to make money in a proper and profitable way, and it is also a smart and flowing business opportunity. With the acceleration of the Web3 era, the digital process of modern finance also speeds up, with more abundant, diversified and innovative ways of wealth and asset management constantly being explored and applied. As a result, the development of the global financial world can produce more interesting exploration and aspirations.
The continuous growth of the number of high net worth people and investable assets is one of the inevitable trends of the positive development of any society. With the steady improvement of regulatory policies and the release of diversified needs of residents for wealth management, the global wealth management market is booming, and various institutions have shown different competitive advantages in the field of wealth management.
For example, commercial banks have relatively complete products which covers the widest market among all kinds of institutions. They can gain customer trust and drive customer retension through channel sinking and network optimization. On the other hand, securities companies have strong research ability and their clients have a deep understanding of the capital market, so they have a certain foundation and competitiveness in wealth management. The competitiveness of insurance companies mainly lies in the function of personal security, the function of pension under the background of aging and the excellent allocation ability of absolute return. In addition, there are fund companies with outstanding investment and research strength,while their own marketing methods and comprehensive service capabilities are relatively weak.
And trust (especially family trust business) is more and more favored by high net worth people because of its unique advantages in asset protection, professional management, wealth inheritance and other aspects.
For trust companies, they have many advantages in the development of comprehensive wealth management business.
First, it has the first-mover advantage in understanding and applying the trust system so that it can make full use of property independence, risk isolation, cross-generation planning and other comprehensive functions of profound accumulation in the trust system. Compared with other funds management institutions, under the current legal framework, trust industry has a comparative advantage in the development of comprehensive wealth management business such as family trust and pension trust.
Second, it has the advantage of flexible cross-market asset allocation. Under the current policy, trust companies still have the advantage of spanning the money market, capital market and industrial investments, which is conducive to their asset allocation and product cross-market portfolio.
Third, it has the innovation advantage of products and services. Trust companies can create personalized products and expand functions based on existing businesses, and create personalized products and services according to different characteristics and needs of customers. Based on the institutional advantages of flexible and extensive allocation of trust assets, trust companies should strengthen the innovation and development of trust products and services, strengthen the synergy of products and services, and enrich the types of trust products and services, so as to give full play to the advantages of comprehensive wealth management operation to meet the diversified and personalized needs of different customers for wealth management, and promote the high-quality development of the trust industry.
How can trust companies seize digital opportunities?
At the present stage, digitalization has penetrated into all aspects of asset management and wealth management. Only by seizing the opportunity, accelerating the realization of digital transformation and striving to promote the leapfrog development, can the industry grow faster . As an important part of the financial industry, the trust industry needs to be empowered by digital power for high-quality development. The traditional business model based on offline and manual needs to make use fintech to realize digital transformation and upgrading.
For trust companies, the first aim is to achieve business and technology dual-wheel drive. Fintech is an important starting point of digital transformation. It closely connects business innovation with technology application, focuses on strengthening business support for enterprise digital demand, actively explores the collaborative mechanism between business team and science and technology team, and realizes the dual-wheel driven integration of business and technology. Second, we need to strengthen the foundation for digital development. Trust companies should not only realize the whole process, high-quality data support and efficient and pragmatic data governance, but also comprehensively enhance the awareness of network security protection. Centering on the digital development trend, trust companies should establish targeted network security operation protection system and build a solid network security defense line. Third, we need deepen industrial cooperation.
At present, the digital transformation of trust companies is still faced with the common problems of weak scientific and technological capability, small scale effect and high input cost. In particular, the independent transformation of small and medium-sized trust companies is difficult and the cost is high. Therefore, it is necessary to further deepen industrial cooperation and joint construction, and pool the strength of the industry to jointly explore the road of digital transformation and development.
LittleBee Trust Fintech: fintech new influence that masters trust supertool.
In today's new wave of technological revolution set off by blockchain, cryptocurrency is increasingly showing up in the mainstream, asset classes and financial paradigms are gradually various, innovative and evolving. LittleBee Trust Fintech is based on the point of Web2 and Web3 yearning for seamless connection and free interaction. LittleBee Trust Fintech is to transform the current structure of the financial market with innovative fintech level and service capability.
LittleBee Trust Fintech is the world's first comprehensive solutions provider that combines trust regulations with full asset management. By providing core products including transaction, payment and Web 3 infrastructure solutions and a full range of services covering systems, compliance, assets and ecology, LittleBee Trust Fintech paves the way for users of its partners' Web 2 traditional financial market to enter the vast emerging Web 3 market. It solves the obvious problems of all users across the Web 2 & Web 3 circle, such as cash in, decentralized identity authentication and cross-chain timely transaction.
The comprehensive and innovative compliance solutions of our global trust asset management platform help users of our partners access all asset classes on and off the global market, and support users to conduct global asset allocation and trading conveniently, quickly and safely through "one account, one terminal".
LittleBee Trust Fintech global trust asset management platform, based on the global trust law system, with the core of trust super account, supported by Al, Blockchain, Cloud, Data and other global leading underlying technologies, centering on the two core dimensions of trust legal relationship and total asset management, is to build a trust asset management system that manages investment transactions, asset allocation and risk control of multi-level accounts with a terminal which covers major global financial products and markets via one account. LittleBee Trust Fintech enables the wealth/asset management industry to build a new full-dimensional business model by constantly iterating and upgrading various modules.
The innovative financial compliance support provided by LittleBee Trust Fintech includes innovative license portfolio and trust structure, such as trust license, securities trading license, currency exchange license, digital currency license, trust contract support, KYC/AML and other compliance support. LittleBee Trust Fintech ensures that all services we provide for "Web2+Web3" hybrid finance (HyFi) transactions are safe and legal under common law regulation.
In general, the innovative compliance solution launched by LittleBee Trust Fintech combines the diversity of trust purpose, trust property, application tools and orientation, flexibility of management and application arrangement, long-term of trust and management continuity and integration of multiple functions. By provide financial solutions and other advantages of trust system, LittleBee Trust Fintech hopes to play more value in the development of global financial market.

Welcome to the weekly discussion thread! Ask questions, post your rants, brag about your in-game accomplishments (race wins, roulette drops, etc.), all here. Don't forget to join our Discord server if you haven't!

GT7 Daily Races:

Race A (Unranked Race)

• Track: Tsukuba Circuit, 8 Laps
• Car: Roadster NR-A (ND) '22 – Provided Car
• Tires: Comfort Soft
• BoP: On
• Tuning: Specified
• Tire use: 1x
• Fuel use: 1x
• Unranked Race: DSR will not change by finishing!

Race B

• Track: Autodrome Laggo Maggiore - Center Reverse, 8 Laps
• Car: Gr.3 – Garage/Provided Car
• Tires: Racing Hard
• BoP: On
• Tuning: Specified
• Tire use: 1x
• Fuel use: 1x

Race C

• Track: Daytona Road Course, 10 Laps
• Car: Gr.4 – Garage/Provided Car
• Tires: Racing Hard
• Tuning: Specified
• Tire use: 2x
• Fuel use: 3x

Subreddit/game news:

• Known issues list
• UCD and LCD line-up / Engine swap list / Ticket drop rates / BoP Info
• Current game version as of this WDT is version 1.34.
• The Ford Roadster returns to the LCD on June 22. Mark your calendars!
• Manufacturers Cup begins June 7.

Previous thread

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I got a little bored and drunk. Then this happened. Just a bit of dumb action. I could try and spin this as me improving my ability to write more action oriented scenes, but well. Yeah, drunk and bored. Enjoy and tell me what you think.
CW: Sweet sweet excessive violence
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The little skiff drifted lazily along the asteroid belt. In a backwater system, free from prying eyes, the crew had ample time and space to test their newest toy. The ursdain in the pilot’s seat adjusted a couple controls before settling back in his chair. His avian co-pilot was observing the rest of the crew on the security feed.
“What is he doing?”
The ursdain leaned over, “Practicing?”
The avian’s half lidded stare was the only response.
In the cargo bay were the skiff’s other three occupants. A rather burly male human with brown skin and a mostly shaved head was yanking his tomahawk back out of the wooden board he had hung up on the wall. He walked back a few paces before turning and hurling it back at the target.
“Do you have to do that right now?” asked the exacerbated vulptan.
“Nope.” He responded while lining up his next throw.
“Just let him. If he doesn’t keep busy, he’ll keep trying to add ‘modifications.” The red-headed human female interjected while elbow deep in their prototype.
“You’re just jealous of my brilliance.”
“Sure. We’ll call it that.”
Meanwhile as the ursdain began to ponder his next meal a red blip flashed on his display followed by a sharp claxon. He slammed the red alert, “Thakt, we got company!”
The avian was already attempting to jam the enemy sensors, but they’d been made. “They’re on their way! Pirates looking to board!” She keyed the intercom, “Prepare for boarders!”
As soon as the lights went red the man in the jury-rigged shop ran to the new machine. “This thing ready?”
“The targeting computer hasn’t been installed and there’s still the issue of-“
“Can it move!?”
“Yes, but-“
“Strap me in!” He snached up the helmet and mask then climbed in the suit. The women began closing and sealing panels as he donned the helmet, flipped down the visor, and sealed the mask to his face.
“Gonzo! Listen to me. You don’t have a lot of time in that thing, so you gotta be in and out. Alright?”
“Lil, this is what I’m good at. Let me work.” She rolled her eyes as she closed the front up.
He opened then closed his mechanical fingers and rolled his shoulders. The suit seemed to be responding well. He stood to its full height and slammed the dome helmet down over his head. The other two already snatched a couple weapons and ran for the bridge to secure it. He stalked over to the armory bench to pick up some toys and party favors when the com cracked to life in his ear.
“Gonzo? You receiving?”
“Loud and clear.”
“Our only shot at getting out of here is you disabling their engines and breaking whatever they use to mate with us.”
He giggled slightly as he strapped the weapon harness over his mid-section. “Copy. Break shit. Can do.”
The ship shuddered and jolted. “They’re broadcasting for surrender.”
“Sure, I’ll accept their surrender.”
“Funny. They’re about to breach the stern airlock. Get ready.”
Gonzo drew a breath and put his game face on. Their MO is to breach loud and fast. A little shock and awe. He planted a couple surprises by the hatch then took cover around the bulkhead.
“They’re about to breach.” He popped a couple smoke grenades and tossed them down the corridor. Then an idea struck him, and he popped a couple more and thrust them in his harness for a bit of Blackbeard flair. He readied his weapon and checked the other two. All he could do was wait.
A few seconds later the hatch blasted in and two canids rushed into the haze. Gonzo didn’t know how armored they were, but he figured being covered in burning napalm was a bad thing. He leaned the nozzle around the corner and lit up the entrance. The blinding light pierced the smoke and judging from the screams, they weren’t ready for assaulting a weapons manufacturing ship. Now came the fun part of the suit. While the auto-aim and friend/foe feature weren’t installed, it did have a suite of sensors such as sonar, lidar, and infrared.
Gonzo could see the outlines of the thrashing pirates and held his fire. A couple more pirates entered the hall to drag their comrades out. That’s when he hit the clacker. The anti-personnel mines went off, filling the confined space with hundreds of ball-bearings in an instant.
“Hey! We gotta clean all that up when you’re done you know!”
“Relax. I’m advancing now. Give me a map.”
Sure enough, a holo layout of the pirate ship sprung to life in the corner of his vision, complete with the highlighted sections of engineering and security. He advanced through the smoke onto the pirate ship. As he emerged through the smoke, more billowing off him like a demon fresh from Hell, he saw more pirates readying to storm his little craft. They were lightly armored. Shame. With another squeeze and lazy turn, he coated the would-be intruders.
Realizing they bit off more than they could chew, the lights on the pirate vessel began flashing red, and a call to repel boarders went out. Gonzo hustled down the passages headed toward engineering. He rounded the corner and dove back behind the corner as the ursdain with a gatling laser opened up from the other end of the hall. He wasn’t sure the flamethrower would make it to the other side, so he swapped to his baby. He tossed his last smoke grenade around the corner and counted to ten.
When he felt the passage was good and obscured, he held his replica China Lake around the corner and fired. Fwoomp…BOOM! Something wet and red hit the wall beside Gonzo. I think I got ‘em. He pumped another round into the chamber and continued.
He found Engineering easily enough and stormed inside. It was a large room dominated by…Well, the engine he supposed. Gonzo wasn’t an engineer, but he was a 2300. He was about to jog up to the biggest most important looking bit when his legs were taken out from under him. He was quickly bound up in ssypno coils and could hear the suit groaning under the pressure.
“There’ll be no more of that. Now let’s get you out of that can.”
Gonzo struggled to no avail, but he’d be damned before he gave up. He took a breath and forced his arms out away from his body. The suit groaned and struggled to give him the breathing room he needed. When he thought he had the space to work with, his hand shot to his knife strapped to his belt. He drew it and twisted his hand just as the coils snapped shut around him. The pirate stabbed herself in the soft scales of her underbelly just as Gonzo drew his arm around his torso slicing long and deep.
She shrieked as he carved, and quickly tried to slither away, but he snatched a piece of her armor and rode her, continuing to stab and slash at the joints in her suit. She tried to curl in on herself and grab the man with her upper arms. He wrestled with her for a while before he drew his offhand behind her opposing arm then using her own death grip on his main hand bent her arm around his. Her elbow snapped and she shrieked. With brief freedom of movement, Gonzo drew his knife up and plunged it into her sub armored neck. Her tail thrashed and writhed before the life seeped from her.
Gasping and sweating profusely, he drew himself up and stumbled to the drive core. Or what he thought was the drive core. He wasn’t an astrophysicist, but he was sure this thing didn’t like heavy explosives. He quickly rigged up an IED around the biggest glowiest part and set it to go off on his clacker.
He jogged from engineering to security but was stopped in the passages by a couple canids ambushing him. One opened fire with a laser-rifle, striking him in the upper torso, but the armor kept his chest from being cauterized. The blast streaked off the chest piece leaving a red-hot mark. It burned.
“Keep out of fire, Gonzo! I was trying to tell you that the heat-sinks aren’t finished yet!”
There may not have been a new hole in him, but it burned like Hell. He closed the distance to his attackers, too close to use his rifle, and they met him with claw and teeth drawn. The first canid threw themselves at him, knocking him down, and clamping their jaws around where his neck would be. He heard a hiss as something gave way on his shoulder. He fought and rolled to buck them off, but they held fast.
Gonzo decided it was time to draw his sidearm and clamped his hand down on the head of the assaulting canid to keep them in place. The other one tried to claw at his legs, but only found solid titanium alloy. He reached down to his holster and drew the comically oversized revolver, now appropriately sized in the power-armor’s fist. He thrust the barrel under the canid’s chin and fired. Their friends’ helmet rocketing off their head gave Gonzo the brief shock needed to roll the first pirate off him, raise his pistol, and fire point blank at his second attacker. As their head snapped back, he hauled himself back onto his feet and limped into security.
He needed to find a way to release his ship but drew short at the two canids and taurian blocking the consoles. The two canids threw themselves at Gonzo, biting and clawing for all they were worth. The heat in the suit was becoming unbearable. It was starting to sear bits of exposed flesh. Gonzo regretted jumping in in a tank top.
One canid clamped their jaws on his neck while the other went for his legs trying to drop him to the deck. Something snapped to his left and he lost all control of his left arm. It was just a hundred pounds of dead weight. He fell back swinging his pistol around trying to pistol-whip his attackers.
“That’s enough! Just give up and we’ll sell you somewhere nice.” The taurian called out.
Gonzo bucked his hips and fired at the canid by his legs but missed. Repeating what he did before he point-blank lobotomized the canid by his shoulder. With a roll, he popped himself back up readying his next shot when the second canid fell on him. He held his ground as they slashed and leapt to bite.
He caught them in the air and slammed them into the bulkhead beside him. It was nice to be eye level with them for once. He used this to his advantage by slamming his titanium fist into their face and gut repeatedly, feeling each subtle bone crack and snap. The taurian grabbed him under the arms and hurled him to the other side of the room as the last canid slumped down the wall.
The pirate drew some kind of bladed weapon. Big mistake. Gonzo drew his tomahawk, and sprinted forward with his head down. Using all the power in the suit he had, he slammed into her stomach and drove her forward into the wall.
She recovered her breath quickly and began raining blows down on his back and shoulders. The strain was beginning to get to him. Sweat was streaming down his body, stinging his eyes. The suit burned. He bent his knees then shot upright, driving his helmet into her chin. She rocked back in shock and Gonzo took a couple steps back. His left arm was dead. He could only grasp with the fingers. The pirate rubbed her chin.
“Oh, you’ll pay for that.”
Gonzo quickly tossed his tomahawk up and grabbed it by the end, before hurling it at his enemy. It buried in her shoulder, and she screamed. He sprinted at her full tilt with his head down shoulder out and pinned her to the wall. She kept fighting and pushed him back. Gonzo used his hips to swing his dead arm around to the pirate and clamped down with his hand. His hand locked in place as the taurian began to try and ineffectually push him away. Panting, he decided to give her a bit of backward-knee syndrome. He hauled back and put his and his suits’ full weight into a stomp kick right on her knee.
It folded back and she shrieked. Now at chest height he began slamming his fist into her helmet until it warped and broke. He stopped when he saw the stream of blood pour out the bottom.
He tried to make his way to the console, but realized his hand was stuck gripping the dead-weight of the corpse. He planted one boot on its back and pulled for all he was worth. With a fresh souvenir of taurian hide trapped in his grasp, he quickly worked the security console and disengaged the clams holding his ship in place. Once freed, he pulled out his clacker and slammed it. The whole ship rocked and shuddered. Catching his que he limp-jogged back to his ship. The remaining pirates were too busy with damage control as the ship quickly began filling with vacuum. Gonzo found his airlock with minimal resistance and threw himself in it.
“Blast!” he cried as he clutched the safety bar inside the lock. Grokna punched the skiff for all it was worth headed for the nearest jump point.
When the airlock cycled Gonzo limped back into the scorched cargo hold with hydro leaking down his left side. Lil and Korsk sprinted in to check on the man as he clumsily clutched at the emergency releases. The dome helmet fired clean off the top while the chest piece fired out revealing the sweat drenched and burned pilot. The suit dropped to its knees as Gonzo flopped out ripping his mask and helmet off. He gulped at the fresh air and luxuriated in the coolness of the metal floor when he gasped, “I…I have…Some notes…Need…Better cooling…”

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On the shipyards orbiting the forge world Exznuvva:

Laborer 12 32 1453 offered gratitude to the Priestesses, for their sight had spared the lowly such as he. If not for the beetles, his aging bones would have made his worth to the forges fall, and his worth to the alter rise. Give praise to the sight of the Priestesses, for they saw the unworthy who hoard their blood from Axzuur when worthy Axxaakk did yet draw breath. Yet, he was pleased to make worth of himself at the shipyards. Why shouldn't he? The glorious vessel would fly forth into the starfields of the unworthy to cull them from the lands which rightfully belonged to the Emperor and Empress, and their subordinates, thus sparing those of little worth who would be required to sate the thirst of Axzuur, may the stars tremble at his step, in their stead. How he hated the cowards for hiding so long from their fate, for if they had been discovered earlier, perhaps his father would yet live.
Once he had sufficiently abased himself to the local shine to the Empress, may she see where the unworthy hide, he made his way to his assigned dwelling place. Indeed, today was a very good day, as extraction ships had returned with all which is needful to his trade in even greater numbers than from the onset of the conquest, thus increasing his worth. If he could gain just a little more worth to the shipyard, he may be assigned apprentices to guide that he might make those young of little worth escape the alter. This is why he was pleased as he entered his assigned dwelling place granted him by the generosity of Initiate-Highborn Narrex-Sarvon, may his might ever increase, and was pleased to find his assigned breeding partner also present.
"Partner," she said coolly, "you look pleased."
"The war goes well, and my worth rises despite these bones," he said.
Laborer 22 15 1427 scratched the metal wall with her knuckle horns and asked, "Think you to rise to warrior?"
"Nothing so grand, partner," he laughed. "I hope to be worthy to give instruction to those of little worth as I was or may be."
"This ambition is well, for you can attain it," she said as she swayed toward him, "I too have an ambition. I desire to give birth to a warrior."
"You aim too low, partner, for you could be worthy of a name," Laborer 12 32 1453 said with a gentle smile.
"Jest not!" she snapped in reply.
"I do not," he said earnestly, "for I believe that you could raise better than the raising centers, to become a true mother."
"This you likely say beguiled by my meager beauty. I care not, leave aside your flattery and instead give to me the seed of a warrior."
Laborer 12 32 1453 lay abed in the glow of the completion of his latest task. To sire a warrior might indeed raise his worth, he could only hope that the war last long enough for the proving. He hoped indeed that if his assigned breeding partner did become pregnant from their labors together, she would have occasion to demonstrate her skill with babes, and be allowed to raise it herself, and perhaps even be selected to tend the highborn babes.

On Numiind:

Jax hid in the shadows of an alley and watched the combined arms patrol trundle down the street. It had been thirteen days. Thirteen days and seven refugees laid beneath the waves. But still, they found survivors. Still, they liberated prisoners. Still, they held out. The Republic was coming, so Jax lead his cell. The Republic was coming, so Jax watched the Axxaakk tank and squad trundle down the road. They'd done a little testing, and the hover tanks, well, they didn't like being hit from below. Unsurprisingly, to be sure, but that's why they patrolled with infantry elements now. However, this was their home, not the Axxaakk's. Little did they know that there was a massive cave a mere ten feet below grade. They had learned that there were tunnels, and that the resistance was using them to get around, the consequence of another cell getting wiped out in another mining town, but Jax wasn't just some cop trying to defend his home. He was a trained RNI Drop Trooper, and so he knew how to run opsec. The tank shuddered over the proper location, and he clicked his radio twice. There were seven muted explosions, the Axxaakk infantry stopped and took aim, anticipating the coming attack.
However, they should have looked to their feet where large cracks were spreading in the plascrete in a wide oval with its longer sides kissing the buildings, until the force of the tank's grav drive finally caused the underlying stone to buckle, and the entire formation plummeted forty feet to the hard rock below.
He, Rae, Kie, and Ash popped out of their concealment and laid down supressing fire from their newly elevated positions, and quickly took out the remaining infantry, and also convinced the tankers to stay nice and buttoned up in their tank too damaged to hover anymore. Which was exactly what they needed them to do while Mei blew a nearby levy, allowing the sea to intrude upon that part of the town, and the street, and the hole in it. They waited for the water to settle, and waited some half hour more in silence and stillness. Then, Jax ordered over the radio, "Ash, go take a look."
"You got it boss," the man answered, and try as he might, Jax could not identify the shadow darting through the water which was Ash. He suspected that ash had taken an indirect route, and if he had Jax would approve. The enemy might have rudely refused to die for them. Then, Ash's whiskered face popped out of the water near the center of the new submarine sinkhole. "Looks like they drowned," he said softly into his radio.
"Good," Mei spat over the radio.
"Good work people, now let's get a move on to the next objective," Jax said.
They slipped into the waters of the newly flooded tunnels, and followed Kai to an abandoned mine shaft, where they made their exit some two hours later.
"Alright," Jax said softly, "we'll rest here for a bit."
Rae pat him on the shoulder and said, "You should sleep a little."
"I'm fine."
"Just fifteen minutes, Jax. I can keep watch."
Jax shrugged her touch off and said, "Kia and Ash, take a nap. The rest of you keep watch and eat something. We'll trade off."
"Got it," came the reply.
"Fifteen minutes, wake me up on the dot," Jax murmured to Rae.
She nodded.
One rest and recuperation later, and Ash was sent out to scout the facility. They'd gotten intel on the presence of pups being held hostage in the old school building, which has miraculously escaped bombardment. The public displays that the invaders made of plunging their wicked knives into the bellies of the elderly did not bode well for the captured pups, so Jax and his companions didn't even debate whether they would get the pups away from the invaders, but how and when. The answers to both questions would depend greatly on what Ash came back with.
"Jax," came his voice out of the shadows, "We have some company."
"What do you mean?" Jax asked as his trigger finger started feeling somewhat itchy.
Then, a sound came from the darkness that nearly made him weep, Republican Battle Cant, "Your buddy says you're a vet from the anti-piracy patrols."
"Hell yeah," he choked in return as the looming figure of an Advanced Stealth Drop Surveillance Scout stepped out of the shadows, even as his scout pattern armor shifted its coloration to blend into his surroundings.
"You came!" Rae exclaimed as tears filled her eyed.
"Of course we came. Where did you think the supply drops were coming from. We've determined this town is an ideal drop sight, as this is a main command hub for the enemy ground forces, so I've been preparing things."
"You took out the sacrificer…" Ash said with awe.
"How do you know that?"
Jax realized that the RNI ASDSS wasn't speaking RBC, or even Commercial English, but their own language, and decided to keep on with that, "Because it wasn't us, and there's nobody else holding out here."
"Just you five?"
"Us and the guards securing the refugees down below," Jax said.
"Alright, well that doesn't change anything. What's your coms?"
"Radio. The walkies for ops and HAM between cells."
"You still have HAM radios?"
"A hobby club started by a Human who moved here back just after first contact. It got popular to hear his stories."
"Huh," the RNI ASDSS grunted in a satisfactorily impressed way before he continued, "Okay, I think I'm patched into your frequency. Test test."
Jax nodded when all of the radios also said "Test test."
"Sir-"
"I'm no sir, I'm still a corporal."
"What do we call you, then?"
"Well, you can call me Lost Boy for now. Opsec."
Jax smacked himself on the forehead and said, "Ancestors forgive me."
"Huh?"
"We've been using our real names."
"Well, not to be mean, but you guys don't exactly have a very wide pool of names. They probably think they're code names anyway."
"Okay Lost, we're here on a rescue op. They have pups in there to do Ancestors know what with, and we're not waiting around to watch them get stabbed to death on top of some weird rock."
"Gotcha, I'll find me a good firing position and switch the APR over to quiet mode and provide overwatch."
"Aye, Lost. Signal when you're in position. Three clicks on the radio. Everyone, move out."
"One more thing," the Lost Boy said as the group started breaking up, "The drop pods will be hitting about ten klicks west in about three hours, so let's get the kiddos under cover before then, gotcha?"

In low orbit over Numiind:

Acolyte-Lord Narrex-Quinn and Acolyte-Lord Gukea-Sarvon stood before the display screen and made their report to Priest-Lord Tiglach-Pilexer. They did not dissemble, exaggerate, or otherwise attempt to save face before their commander, as they knew how dire the position of the invasion fleet had become after the destruction of a single diplomatic vessel. They knew well that they may have to crouch before this new foe for the time being, for the High Priestess had seen that their might was great indeed, yet the Dominion of Axxaakk was also mighty. Morover, the ever thirsting Axzuur, may the stars tremble at his steps, commanded their conquest, and could therefore not falter.
However, it was up to those who obey that the triumph be as glorious as possible, lest Axzuur become displeased and demand their blood as the unworthy. Thus, while it might have been wise at another time to embellish the facts in their favor, they knew that such would be short sighted in this case.
Acolyte--Lord Narrex-Quinn was saying, "I do not expect we can begin to dominate the mammal-worms across the planet to such a degree that they resume their industry at our direction."
"Indeed," Acolyte-Lord Gukea-Sarvon agreed, "and we have gathered that which was readily available in either the raw or already processed before we took possession of it."
"Thus, unless we can send one to delay the Terrans, for at minimum two annum, we shall need to move on and raid elsewhere."
"Let it be so," the face on the screen decreed. "Carry off with you those adults who's young you have in custody. They shall make excellent serfs on these wet worlds."
"We obey, Priest-Lord," they intoned as they bowed and their superior cut the communication."
"I shall return to my flagship," Acolyte-Lord Narrex-Quinn said, and the Initiate-Highborn present moved immediately to accommodate this.
"I was pleased to work with you, brother. Would that we had time to subjugate this world. I would think you placed at its alter, and thus find yourself raised up to Priest-Lord."
"My fate is to be covered in blood and glory, brother. Such a task and honor must fall to another."
"It troubles me that we could not crush these mammal-worms even after more than ten days," Acolyte-Lord Gueka-Sarvon grumbled.
"If it were not so, we would not have so many new serfs. It is much the same upon the other worlds infested with these lower creatures," so we have gained much for the Dominion, as have other Acolyte-Lords."
One shuttle ride later, and Acolyte Lord was in his quarters, enjoying a local delicacy, some kind of water animal with fins. Its flesh was pleasantly tender and sweet. He hoped that he would be a part of the forces who would return to this place to conquer this place for this treat alone. His pleasing reflection on future glories was Interrupted by an initiate-Highborn.
"Acolyte-Lord, your leadership is needed in the command throne," the Initiate-Highborn murmured with a proper waist deep bow.
"Return to your station, I come."
"I obey," he said and quickly shuffled away.
Acolyte-Lord was in his subordinate's heels all the way to the bridge, where alarms were blaring, "Report at stations," he commanded.
"Four incoming hyperspace exits detected in the interdiction zone!"
"Ship class estimation!"
"Unknown, Acolyte-Lord! Their shadows are somehow obscured."
"Assume the worst, order all frigates and their escorts to the exit sites!"
"They do exit now!"
"On screen!"
"I obey!"
Acolyte-Lord Narrex-Quinn's amputated hand quaked at the sight of the sensor data rendered visually. The ships were massive, bristling with weapons platforms, communications and network arrays, and bay doors. "Battleships," he whispered in horror.
"A hail comes, Acolyte-Lord!"
"Refuse it!"
The main display screen suddenly lit up with a black banner with a yellow star at its center and what looked to Acolyte-Lord Narrex-Quinn like a glassed planet to one side accompanied by the audio, "We remember the We Sing."
"I said not to accept a hail!"
"Acolyte-Lord, they broke through our system with the hail itself as if they were from a Priest-Master's ship!"

Aboard the Destroyer Tiger Lilly:

The squadron had just exited hyperspace, and the enemy was around the space-otter planet of Numiid in force. There was even a battleship there, or at least what these genocidal scum thought was a battleship. Corporal Linus George sent up a prayer, and clambered into his drop pod. He always hated the space superiority portion of the battle, even against junker pirates, and these freaks had actual weapons. All plasma, but they had reportedly sunk a few Roma Nova ships, which was impressive for plasma only. He was going to show these murderous zealots what happens when you go fucking around and touch a Republican boat. They were in find out time.
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Traitor Captain Ingvar was not known for being conciliatory. To the pathetic, mewling Dregs with their lackluster discipline, he was short-tempered and violent; he killed them as casually as Commissar Candlewick had killed his own comrades at the front. Candlewick, who was still alive and would remain so for as long as his cursing and sobbing amused Ingvar. To his own Scabs, the Captain was short-tempered and demanding. The front must advance. Even at terrible cost, because it had to. It had to fast.
But to Granny, Ingvar was conciliatory. Here, in the ritual chambers where she called Beasts of Nurgle from the warp, her power was unmatched. A one-time water storage silo, now knee-deep in grey sludge that writhed with yellow pustules. The vast agitation array, a three pronged beater in the center that circulated the water, was gummed in place, with tendrils stretching up the hundred meters towards the ceiling. In this room was only poxwalkers and Granny, and now Ingvar. And Ingvar, like everyone else, feared her.
“We need more Beasts of Nurgle. The front is stalled,” he spat his words, forcing them through the ragged, lumpen masses in his throat. His jaundiced skin was pallid as Granny’s ponderous bulk was rotated. “We need linebreakers for the enemy armour. We need them soon.”
Granny had been one of his soldiers once, a dangerous and competent woman. Now, her obscene bulk was carried by a dozen poxwalkers who obeyed her unspoken commands. Poxwalkers near her acted as her hands and eyes in terrible summoning rituals, and carried her wretched frame around. Poxwalkers who, in a unified, choral voice, spoke her words for her.
“Grandfather is displeased, Ingvar,” they sing-songed, white eyes blank and lips drawn back from their decaying, blackened teeth. “His beloved pets die pointlessly at the hands of the Inquisition. How can you not deal with just a few Loyalist dogs? How can you let his sweet beasts be slain? Grandfather is disappointed in you, and Grandfather’s disappointment sadness me greatly…”
The single awful mouth that split Granny’s body through the middle and earned her that terrible nickname parted enough to reveal the milky gums, the jagged triangular teeth. The barbed tongue within ran out to trace across the grotesque, ribbed lips that had once been Granny’s ribcage. Saliva oozed out, yellow and white. The heavy nostrils that had once been his subordinate’s head exhaled and the breath reeked of a decay that even Ingvar struggled to stand before. His eyes watered as he lowered his gaze, unable to look at the deformity that was once a human.
Other Captains had died demanding things of Granny. But more than other Captains, Ingvar understood the timetables involved.
“Granny,” he said, a rough hacking cough ejecting one of the nodules that grew inside his throat. It would regrow soon, but he could speak faster for a bit. “We must. The Cicatrix Maledictum only slows Astropathic messaging from Atoma. It does not stop them. We are on a timetable. We must overcome the defenders before greater reinforcements can be mustered. We must control the world before they can arrive.”
The lips closed, pursed in a grotesque mockery of thinking. Ingvar was not sure if she still thought. Ingvar was not sure if anything was still human about her, with how generously Nurgle had blessed her. A flabby arm dangled from the corner of her maw, and every now and then it clawed at the rest of the body in desperate tearing motions that peeled away layers of skin.
Ingvar hoped there was nothing human left in her.
“Grandfather,” the poxwalkers mumbled. “Thinks you do not need his pets for this. Unleash the Plague Ogryn. Send forth the Chaos Spawn. Spare his darlings.”
Ingvar, more than other Captains, hated Beasts of Nurgle. And he hated them because he understood them. “We cannot spare them from their joy,” he wheezed. The reek of her breath made his blisters swell and ooze, made his perpetual fever burn hotter. His joints ached. “They love their play. Let them chase tanks. Let them play with Loyalist dogs and gift them Nurgle’s blessings. If they die, they die doing what they love.”
The poxwalkers in the ritual chamber all turned to look at him, all stopped moving at once. His fingers twitched with the urge to go for his shotgun. He could not swallow past the dryness and lumps in his throat.
“…Grandfather agrees with you,” they hissed. “He wishes to see them caper. He wishes to see them play. I will do the rituals. But know this: I see your heart, Captain Ingvar. Grandfather loves and forgives. But he demands. Go. Oversee operations from Magistrati Oubliette TM8-707. Only your personal skills,” the poxwalkers paused and, grotesquely, seemed to snicker. Their bony, starved bodies shuddered in a mockery of laughter, their rictus-grin faces managing nothing like a smile. “Can oversee this zone. Grandfather commands it through his Grand Maw.”
Captain Ingvar bowed and backed away slowly, hand still twitching with the urge to grip his shotgun. The twitching did not stop when he left the room… rather, he drew the weapon once he was out of sight of her, finding comfort in having the power to kill back in his hands. A Dreg from his retinue approached and opened his mouth to ask an insipid question. Ingvar reassured himself of his power to kill with one quick blast into the useless Dreg’s torso.
“Alert the Major,” he snapped to his Lieutenant, voice growing stronger as the scent of Granny’s breath receded behind him. “Granny will do the rituals, and I am to take charge of TM8-707.”
“Grandfather favours you! That is a guarded and favorable position,” the Lieutenant added.
Ingvar kept the shotgun in his hands. He did not feel the power of life and death in them, even as he looked down at the rancid gore of the dead Scab’s ribs. Ribs that bowed inward around ruined organs Like a cage.
Or like teeth.

The day seemed like it would be ordinary until the aeronautical community’s most sought after document showed up on my doorstep.
It came wrapped in brown kraft paper tied off with twine, and the exterior packaging had no return address nor any indication of a postage stamp. It was as though it had been simply bundled up and dropped into my wall-mounted mailbox by a random passerby.
No part of me was willing to surrender the strange parcel without opening it first. Regardless of who its contents truly belonged to, my eyes would be the first to see it. I removed the twine and then dug a thumb under a fold in the packaging paper before clawing it away to expose a brown tan notebook circa 1900. It was full grain buffalo leather with a crisscross of cord for the spine and a thick hand cut string keeping it sealed shut.
When I undid the string, the pages that had been gripped tight by the leather fanned out gently then returned to their original position, my eyes landing on the front page. It was without a printer’s mark and read in big handwritten type: “THE DIARY AND RECORD OF HENRY H. HELGELAND.”
I knew in that instant the package was in the hands of who it was rightfully sent out for. Not just because I’d recently lost my job as an associate at our city’s art museum but because of a separate, much deeper connection to the diary’s author.
Perhaps it’s in my best interests to turn it over to the National Archives, or the US Arctic Research Commission, or maybe even the U.S. Capitol Visitor Center, but at the risk of seeing it blue-penciled to death, I’ve elected to instead share it here and now.
The world needs to know what happened.
---
Henry H. Helgeland — my great grandfather — was a severe looking man with a walrus mustache and a bone to pick with anyone who ever doubted him. He was born in Oakland, California in 1871 and was, by all available accounts relayed to me, well-behaved and well-liked. His father worked a lucrative job in the shipping industry, transporting timber between San Francisco and the Central Valley. Two years into Henry’s life, his mother would contract a fatal case of diphtheria and die shortly thereafter; when he was old enough to understand what had happened, Henry “yearn[ed] fervently for a reunion to mend [his] great anguish and sorrow.”
Near the turn of the 20th century, Henry attended Stanford University’s Department of Mechanical Engineering, where he learned everything from thermodynamics to machine design. But it was a lecture about polar transportation that would ultimately kindle his interest in a separate enterprise: arctic exploration. Indeed, the race to the North Pole was well underway, with naval officers, geologists, and aeronauts around the globe vying for the chance to make history. My great grandfather, like many of his peers, propounded the theory that he, and he alone, would be the first to reach the Great White North.
In 1895, Henry graduated with a Bachelor of Science degree in mechanical engineering and sought to expand the member list of the so called Ascension Society, a student organization he’d assembled to aid engineering graduates with materials science. Many of its constituents had engaged in research projects and experimental setups to hone their craft of mechanical systems, but in time, however, the venture would instead prove a hotspot for investors and philanthropists. Donations averaging up to $5,000 helped fund and promote the fantastic ambitions of my great grandfather. So long as the Ascension Society was gracing him with their support, he’d be the first to reach the North Pole.
In early 1898, armed with enough capital, Henry used the proceeds to purchase the materials required for the balloon.
---
A notable circus at the forefront of traveling attractions in the early twentieth century was The Fielding Troupe. With its impressive lineup of talent — from fire eaters and aerialists to equestrians and strongmen — the ensemble drew crowds from nearly every town in western America during its historic run. Its wide reach would ultimately reel in many notable faces, including my great grandfather.
Prior to a performance in Oakland, the Fielding Troupe led a procession through the town around Stanford University, announcing their arrival with a parade of wagons, floats, and animals. The strategy, as it were, was to drum up as much publicity and fanfare as possible. Evidently it worked, as a healthy fraction of the faculty and student body at Stanford made the trip over to Oakland in order to see the troupe in action.
Surrounding their arena with two hundred feet of heavy duty tent canvas, the troupe put on a show for the ages the night Henry was in attendance, with extravagant acrobatics, trained animal performances, and a special appearance from Curtis the Clown. Following a skillful display of juggling and good natured audience ribbing, Curtis’s master stroke was an intricate stunt involving balloons and wire flying. Firstly, he would inflate several multi-colored balloons and tie them off with string, securing them firmly in his grip. They served as a flashy distraction from the piece of flexible metal snaking out from the harness he had concealed under his equally flashy costume. Then, with a whisper of strength, a couple stagehands hoisted the balloon-carrying clown thirty feet into the air to make it appear as though he was levitating by virtue of the balloons alone. A separate performer — a marksman — showed off his sharpshooting skills with a Winchester model rifle and gunned down the balloons, exploding each one as the stagehands loosened their hold on Curtis’s harness until he was eased to the ground.
Henry watched the routine with eager delight. Seeing Curtis the Clown float above a hundred or so onlookers helped stir within him a plan. The ceiling of the Big Top Tent where Curtis had concluded his ascent represented more than the centerpiece of a traveling circus.
“Ascendancy,” Henry muttered to his wife Ruth. “This is how we get to the top of the world.”
---
The spherical vessel measured sixty-five feet in diameter, with a capacity of over 200,000 cubic feet. Its construction was overseen by Henry and a couple french engineers who installed in its gondola three berths and ample ballast to keep it stable. The gondola, a carefully constructed assemblage of wicker and chestnut wood, was built as such to bar any interference to the magnetic instruments of the explorers. Keeping it shielded against severe weather conditions was a varnished silk calotte and a vaselined net composed of over four-hundred hemp cords. A bamboo pole was attached bellow the carrying ring to attach the side sails and, perhaps most notably, the balloon was fitted with hemp and cocoa nut fiber guide ropes to help steer and maintain a consistent altitude.
After two years of exhaustive construction, work on the balloon was completed in 1900. Henry named it Ascension, after the society that funded its creation.
---
What follows are several selected passages lifted directly from Henry’s memorandum, transcribed by me. The first entry reads:
“At nine o'clock on the forenoon, May 5, 1900, under the auspices of the Ascension Society, we embarked from the 71st parallel on our quest of the Pole. Our great journey sets off from Point Barrow, Alaska following a grueling adventure aboard the steamer Sursum. I, Henry Helgeland, travel forth, accompanied by Charles Ringvold, esteemed navigator, and Edward Meyer, long celebrated physician, into the arctic wilderness. Together, our efforts will generate a most formidable team and an unwavering spirit. We will ascend.”
Indeed, the SS Sursum disembarked from a port in San Francisco in mid May of that year; it offered easy access to the Pacific Ocean and sailed through the Bering Strait, covering over 3,000 nautical miles before reaching Point Barrow on July 2.
When the balloon took off, carried by a fierce north east wind, it was to a thunderous applause from those that had come to bear witness to the bold endeavor. Among them were crew members of the SS Sursum, high ranking associates of the Ascension Society, and carpenters tasked with helping the balloon reach its initial phase of liftoff.
As it elevated to 300 hundred feet and passed around an onlooking whaler, Henry was reported to have shouted: “To the top of the world, hurrah!”
---
36 hours would elapse before a second entry was made.
“July 4, 1900, Lat. 77° 48' N, Long. 143° 4' W. We are soaring at a height of 600 feet above the Earth's surface, traveling at a speed of approximately seven kilometers per hour. Our morale remains similarly aloft. Charles relayed to me that, God willing, we anticipate reaching the pole in roughly 800 miles. Beyond the drag ropes lending their ballast to our journey, optimism is our guiding force. We will ascend.”
Turbulent air currents had a different plan in mind, however.
“July 5, 1900, Lat. 80° 8' N, Long. 138° 37' W. Alas! Our aerial journey came to an abrupt halt yestereve on the 80th parallel. We voyaged as many as 500 miles before a forceful downdraft spun our vehicle on its vertical axle and compelled it into a sharp descent; we had lost what we estimate to be just over 100 cubic feet of gas.
“Edward suffered severe injuries during the initial impact and claims his vertebrae have been shattered, leaving him immobile. We’re at the mercy of the floe on which we now rest, at the mercy of the Polar Sea. Should we face the specter of death, we shall meet it with unwavering honor. We will ascend.”
---
“July 6, 1900. We find ourselves solitary in the barren expanse, accompanied only by bergs, ice-fields, and majestic glaciers. Our rations encompass a container’s worth of hardtack, enough salted beef for approximately one week, canned stew, dried apricots, some chocolate bars, and seven bottles of ale.
“Edward’s outlook remains grim; he suspects he’ll never walk again. In witness of his current state, I’m beginning to share in such apprehensions. Edward, whom we have reposed on on of our sledges, fears that the opportunity to make known the great love he holds for his mistress Rebecca is one he’ll never be granted. ‘You shall be reunited at once,’ I assured him. ‘Our journey to triumph will not be thwarted by minor inconveniences.’
“We’ve plotted the course to our next destination: that being Herschel Island, located off the coast of Canada in the Beaufort Sea. Charles — who shares in Edward’s dismay — estimates a three month footslog spanning just under one thousand miles is in store for us, perhaps more given Edward’s ailment. I am determined to see this mission to its completion, yet survival remains a paramount desire. Who’s to recount our extraordinary journey should we fail?
“While establishing our encampment and scouting the local flora of the area for additional sources of sustenance, I happened upon a plant of an unknown species. Half a meter tall, bulbous tubers, and thin roots terminating in clusters of white flowers; intuition suggests this is a water hemlock, which precludes it from edibility. Nevertheless, I shall regard this finding as one of great fortune. A portent of divine value. We will ascend.”
---
Two days later, gold prospectors off the Alaskan coast at Nome beach were in the process of emptying their sluice boxes when from the sky flew a carrier pigeon directly to their mining site. It bore a label with the inscription “Helgeland” and contained the following dispatch:
“July 7, 1900. First dog watch. Three southerly traveling carrier-pigeons were sent off at approximately 7 h. 40 p.m. Pacific Standard Time, the following among them. This is Rear Admiral Charles Ringvold of the United States Navy and the Helgeland Balloon Expedition of 1900. Our hopes of reaching the pole have been reduced to naught. Assistance urgently needed. Our destinies have hitherto been unknown, and now my fears have been actualized. GO IN TERROR OF HENRY HELGELAND. He is not who he proclaims to be. I volunteered for a man of honorable stature and venturesome drive. The man before me betrays neither.”
The remainder of the message was a hasty scrawl, decrypted only by the best in linguistics and modern codebreaking.
“UNASSISTED WE WILL PERISH HELPED WE WILL PERSEVERE PLEASE GOD HELP US HENRY WILL KILL US ALL DO NOT BELIEVE WHAT HE PROCLAIMS.”
The communication was immediately passed off to the Smithsonian Institution, where word fell within the earshot of Ascension Society proponents and additional members of the US Navy. A follow-up expedition — a rescue team led by Captain S. P. Matthews — was put together at once with the authorization of the Secretary of War.
Months later, after a congressional bill introduced to secure grant funding for arctic exploration — and thereby a rescue mission for Helgeland’s lost expedition — was successfully passed, the USS Greenwich departed from the San Francisco Naval Shipyard with a crew of thirty boatswains, medics, and deck officers among others.
What they would ultimately uncover puzzled them all.
---
“July 7, 1900. The team has fractured. We are without our provisions and without the morale that has served us thusly.
“Charles and I set upon the pursuit and capture of a walrus, a most strenuous task in the Arctic Circle. Furnished with a Winchester model .40-82, the sport skews in our favor but we are in no short supply of peril. These are one ton beasts with the strength of a hundred strongmen as they stave the ice, and yet it is not them I should have feared.
“’I can’t allow you to proceed further.’ I heard the click clack racket of the Winchester as Charles chambered a round and raised the rifle, training its twenty inch barrel toward my back after I had volunteered — quite ignorantly — to take the vanguard.
“’Charles?’ I managed between clattering teeth.
“’You’re a man of bold stature. An honorable man at that. But not honorable enough to die for. And that’s it, Henry. I will not die for you.’
“’You speak out of distress, not rationality.’
“’I’m as rational as one permits when I say we won’t all make it to Canada. You can’t expect us to sledge Edward for the next month and retain our strength. Our sanities.” I could hear him gulp, ‘our lives.’
“’You’re not who you say you are.’ I realized in that moment. ‘Not even an ensign would renounce his own crew. Who are you really, Charles?’
“His credentials were a farce; a clever scheme to scrape through the expedition’s vetting process. He was no navy-man nor expert nor navigator and if you piled his life’s accomplishments on top of one another, they’d be equal to that of a cretin.
“’Doesn’t matter any more, Henry.’
“’Then why haven’t you shot me?’
“I sensed beyond his terror a hint of reluctance and felt within him the trepidation of an amateur. The man had never wielded a firearm in his life and wouldn’t start hence.
“’In Your infinite mercy, hear my prayer. In Your boundless grace, grant me Your forgiveness,’ he muttered below his breath. I could’ve believed he’d have squeezed the trigger if not for the unexpected convulsion that suddenly brought him to his knees. Befallen by the strange attack, Charles unhanded the Winchester and collapsed to the ice in the midst of a crippling seizure. And in a matter of moments, he had succumbed to death.
“With some activated charcoal or perhaps an emetic, he could have eluded such a painful demise. I stepped over to look upon his body, his pupils dilated to the size of dimes. Reviewing the immediate symptoms, intuition tells me he’s become the latest victim of hemlock poisoning, the kind of amateur mistake I’d expect from someone such as Charles. Ideal timing, if I may speak candidly.
“Hope remains alive. I will ascend.”
---
Investigators with the crew of S. P. Matthews found everything except answers.
It took them all of three months to zero in on the campsite left behind by Helgeland’s expedition. Any prospect of finding the balloon itself was dropped by the wayside to preserve manpower and time.
The camp was discovered on the 79th parallel, not in any particular state of disarray but with enough evidence to suggest conflict had broken out between the members. Edward was discovered in a tent with the rest of the rations and a bullet hole stamped in the side of his head. There was no telling how long he’d been dead for.
Forty-five meters away from the camp, buried under a stalagmitic gathering of ice and snow, was the body of Charles Ringvold. A followup inquiry would prove my great grandfather’s claims that he was a fraud, but like Charles himself, the truth is buried deep under the surface. Edward and Charles are commemorated for their failed — albeit honorable — efforts in the face of great opposition.
The body of my great grandfather, however, was never found. Theories thus abound in the saga of Henry H. Helgeland and we are no more the wiser now than we were a century ago. He is remembered for murdering his men in cold blood, deserting them, and then yielding to the elements somewhere in the frozen hell of the arctic. The carrier-pigeon message sent by Charles corroborated the apparent facts.
But I know the truth. Because only I have the answers.
“July 8, 1900. All that remains is me, for everyone else has vanished. Edward and I regaled each other with stories of our mistresses as night fell upon our place in the arctic wasteland. Rebecca, Edward’s beloved, works as an expert seamstress in San Francisco and will no doubt be devastated when news of his fate reaches her. But the great memories they shared together, I assured him, will serve her well in the years to come.
“‘You shall be reunited at once,’ I whispered to him once more before executing the dying man with the Winchester. It is my turn to face whatever awaits me on the ice.
“My great anguish and sorrow have been mended.
“Ruth is calling to me now. Our son promptly requires our presence.
“I shall go to them."
The fruitless search for my great grandfather peaked at last with the unearthing of a path of footprints snaking away from the tent where Edward’s body lay. Investigators followed them for approximately ten meters before they abruptly ceased. Captain Matthews is quoted as saying: “it was as though the walker had simply floated away.”
And indeed, it was our family that won in the end, for my great grandfather received exactly what he wanted. The final, undated entry of his diary is comprised of but three simple words:
“I have ascended.”

I am 25 and I have been dealing with joint pain for the past 5 years. I am 5'3, 130 pounds, I've never had any health problems or conditions. I have excellent mobility/range of motion, I am super flexible and pretty muscular, active lifestyle, I do yoga and strength training.
I've mostly had pain in my shoulder and my hips, but it's really every joint in my body bothers me. My shoulder has gotten to the point where it effects my everyday life a lot. I can't go more than a few minutes without having to try to move in some way to relieve the pain. My hips ache severely all the time as if there is some force trying to pull them apart. I haven't slept through the night in 5 years because of my hips aching when I lay.
All of my joints are constantly cracking. I know that's kind of normal but it's just every time I move, my wrists, elbows, hips, knees, ankles everything. A lottt of cracking constantly. If I don't crack my neck every few minutes the pain becomes unbearable. It comes with feeling like I have to stretch my entire body 24/7 or else the pain is just too annoying. I know that overstretching can be bad so I force myself to deal with the pain sometimes and be moderate to see if it helps.
The thing is that I have this weird sensation in my joints, especially my hips, I can only describe the sensation as like feeling corroded, or calcified. I keep picturing battery corrosion being stuck all over my hips somehow. Because when I'm stretching out my hips I can almost feel the corrosive stuff getting scraped off my bones and it's very disturbing but relieving. For some reason it makes me feel like something toxic is in my body, like I've just had his weird gut feeling like something is not right.
I was kind of wondering if there is anything like a food intolerance or any other type of lifestyle change I could make to help with this stuff? I want my joints to feel clean....not like they're covered in toxic corrosive that is poisoning my body. I thought that working on mobility and developing strength in the areas I have pain was the best approach. I'm going to keep doing this but I need to figure something else out because it's getting way too overbearing on my life to be in this much pain and feeling almost sick inside when I am this young. It has me terrified of getting old.

The biggest draft need for them imo are wings that can either defend or shoot, Morris and Batum are cooked and should be off the team leaving Covington as the only Pf. Additionally a center would be nice because I highly doubt plumlee is staying(nor do I want him too. Our president of baskeball operations, Lawrence frank is enamoured with Dereck Lively but he will not be there at 30. He stupidly traded Luke kennard and our 20th pick for a 34 yr old eric gordon. A point guard wouldnt hurt since im not a big fan of bones and theres a small chance Westbrook leaves this summer. The new cba has probably nuetered us so now we probably need to build through the draft.
My favorites so far:

1. O-Max
   
2. Kobe Brown
   
3. James Nnaji
   

I ventured through the realm of the forgotten, a solitary wanderer treading the fringes of a world I could never truly call my own. Each step propelled me deeper into the heart of isolation, where extravagant condos belonging to the wealthy loomed on one side, and the impeccably groomed greens of an exclusive golf course stretched out on the other. Beyond was the sound, a channeled sea of islands and foggy weather. Sandwiched between them, an enigmatic patch of forest concealed its secrets, a barrier between opulence and the untamed.
A bone-chilling fog rolled in, veiling the nearby islands in an eerie cloak of mystery. The islands, silent and enigmatic, whispered their secrets to those who dared listen. But on this night, I had more immediate concerns that demanded my attention.
My footsteps led me towards what I knew was my path.
The forest itself seemed out of place, a remnant of untamed wilderness amidst the refined elegance of the condos and the pristine golf course. It was a forgotten corner of nature, hidden away from prying eyes, its secrets locked within its ancient trees and shadowy depths.
It was within this eerie thicket, nestled amidst the extravagant neighborhood and the tranquil sea adorned with fog-shrouded islands, that I stumbled upon a chilling discovery. Max, my loyal canine companion who had accompanied me on countless escapades, led me to a hidden grave. A heavy air of unease settled around us, and a shiver ran down my spine, for I realized I had inadvertently stepped into a dark and foreboding nightmare. Some nightmares are not cleared away in the morning light.
The forest floor was strewn with golf balls, their presence a strange incongruity against the backdrop of towering trees and decaying foliage. But it was the horror that awaited me that truly shattered any sense of normalcy. As Max began to unearth the enigma hidden beneath the earth, an ominous atmosphere descended upon our surroundings, setting the warming orchestra of my thoughts for a descent into madness.
Max began scratching at the ground, his paws kicking up small clouds of dirt. I watched him with trepidation, unsure of what he had stumbled upon. And then, the truth emerged amidst the chaos of his excavation. The forest floor, already littered with golf balls, revealed an even more unsettling sight—a skeletal hand, its bony fingers clutching a weathered club.
As Max continued to dig, my unease grew, and I could no longer ignore the foreboding sense that something terrible was about to unfold. Suddenly, a chorus of guttural voices pierced through the silence, their chilling tones mingling with the rustle of leaves and the distant crash of waves against the tranquil sea.
We huddled in the dense thicket, our hearts pounding against our ribcages like captive beasts. The air grew thick with fear and the stench of decay emanating from the newly discovered grave, just a few feet away. Max, his hackles raised, stood beside me, his eyes fixed on the abyss of the forest.
The feeling of being hunted made us hide, readied us to run. Somehow they knew that we had found their secret. Perhaps the hunters were as sensitive to fate as I.
The nightmare began with a hail of arrows, raining down from above like deadly specks of darkness. I dodged and weaved, desperately seeking cover from the onslaught. The masked men, their eyes burning with malevolence, closed in on me with flashlights in hand, casting grotesque shadows against the fog-laden trees.
A thrown bottle exploded at my feet, glass shattering and cutting into my flesh. The searing pain only fueled my adrenaline-fueled flight. The hunters pursued, their footsteps thundering behind me, accompanied by their mocking laughter and sadistic jeers.
Then, a gunshot shattered the night, its sound resonating through the forest. The other men shouted in anger, chastising the gunman for his recklessness. Chaos intensified, and I felt a tomahawk cartwheel past my ear, missing me by a hair's breadth.
In the midst of the chaos, my heart ached for Max. He had vanished into the depths of the woods, drawn away by something I couldn't fathom. I wanted to run, to escape the approaching vehicles and the hunters who sought to claim me, but I couldn't abandon my faithful companion.
Seconds turned into minutes, and minutes stretched into an agonizing eternity. The sound of vehicles grew louder, the hunters drawing closer. I was terrified and heartbroken, my mind torn between saving myself and waiting for Max.
Just as I was about to abandon hope, a shadow emerged from the gloom. It was Max, bounding toward me with a wagging tail and a glimmer of relief in his eyes. Tears of gratitude welled in my eyes as I called out to him, and he joined me, his presence reinforcing my resolve to flee this nightmarish pursuit.
With renewed determination, Max and I sprinted through the tangled underbrush, the relentless pursuit of the hunters driving us forward. Our hearts beat in sync as we raced against the encroaching darkness.
I followed Max, as he seemed to know the way - having run ahead and found our escape.
The forest seemed to conspire against us, its twisted branches reaching out like skeletal hands, ready to ensnare us in its malevolent embrace. The undergrowth became a treacherous obstacle course, threatening to trip us up with every step. But Max, ever the loyal companion, guided me through the labyrinth of shadows, his senses honed to navigate this haunting realm.
As we sprinted, our breaths ragged and desperate, the pursuing hunters closed in, their footsteps growing louder and more menacing. The sounds of their jeers and taunts echoed through the trees, a symphony of sadism that chilled me to the core.
Then, as if the forest itself decided to aid our escape, a hidden trail materialized before us. It beckoned, a sliver of hope cutting through the suffocating darkness. With no time to spare, we veered onto the path, our feet pounding against the earth, propelled by a surge of adrenaline.
The trail wound deeper into the heart of the forgotten forest, twisting and turning like a serpent, as if playing a wicked game with our pursuers. Shadows danced around us, their elongated forms whispering malevolent secrets. The air grew colder, biting into my skin, and an otherworldly hush settled over the land, as if the very essence of nature held its breath, aware of the horror unfolding within its domain.
A fog reached up from the cliffs as we ran under the open moonlight. We were exposed to our predators, yet the fog came and made us invisible to them. As we reached the other side of the cliffs and more forest, the seaside abandoned us and the fog retreated naturally.
As we raced along the path, the distant sound of crashing waves began to fade, replaced by an eerie silence broken only by the haunting calls of nocturnal creatures. Fear and exhaustion threatened to overtake us, but the thought of what awaited us at the hands of the hunters fueled our determination.
The path abruptly opened up into a clearing, bathed in an ethereal glow. Moonlight filtered through a gap in the dense foliage, casting an otherworldly radiance on a weathered stone structure that stood at the clearing's center. It was a forgotten shrine, forgotten by time and those who once paid homage to its mysterious deity.
A surge of both trepidation and desperate hope coursed through me as I realized that this shrine might hold the key to our salvation. With no time to second-guess, we approached the ancient structure, its moss-covered stones seemingly pulsating with an unknown energy.
As I stepped onto the sacred ground, an unsettling stillness fell over the clearing. Max's hackles rose, his gaze fixated on the shrine's mossy entrance. A primal instinct warned us of the ancient forces at play, but we had come too far to turn back.
Summoning all the courage within me, I pushed open the heavy stone door, revealing a chamber shrouded in darkness. A chill wind swept through the entrance, carrying whispers of forgotten incantations and the scent of decay.
With hesitant steps, we ventured into the unknown depths of the shrine, our hearts pounding in our chests. The walls seemed to close in, suffocating us with a weighty anticipation. The air grew dense with an ancient power, the residue of rituals long forgotten.
A dim light flickered at the center of the chamber, drawing us closer like moths to a flame. We stood trembling, almost forgetting our dire escape. Max began a low growl that broke into a frightened whine.
From the depths of the chamber, a haunting wail erupted, resonating with the agony of centuries past. Shadows coalesced into a towering figure, its eyes blazing with an otherworldly fire. It was the wrathful spirit of the forest itself, determined to protect its secrets at any cost.
Max barked, a valiant act of defiance in the face of an unstoppable force. I stood my ground, clutching my pack, and mustered all the courage I had left. In a trembling voice, I spoke words of remorse and reverence, offering appeasement to the vengeful spirit.
"We're drawn here...to see the grave...to escape its makers."
A hush fell over the chamber as the deity listened, its wrath subsiding, if only momentarily. In a voice that echoed through my mind, it issued a warning—a warning to never return to this forsaken realm, to leave the secrets of the forgotten forest buried in the past.
It wasn't in words, it was just a feeling. I knew what it wanted, and so did Max. It had made itself clear. It would spare us only if we abandoned our trespasses.
With a final glance back at the shrine, Max and I fled, propelled by a newfound urgency. The pursuing hunters were nowhere to be seen, as if swallowed by the very darkness they sought to unleash upon us.
As we emerged from the clutches of the haunted forest, the first rays of morning painted the sky, casting a golden hue upon our weary faces. We had escaped the clutches of the forgotten, forever marked by the consequences of horror that we had personally experienced.

I ventured through the realm of the forgotten, a solitary wanderer treading the fringes of a world I could never truly call my own. Each step propelled me deeper into the heart of isolation, where extravagant condos belonging to the wealthy loomed on one side, and the impeccably groomed greens of an exclusive golf course stretched out on the other. Beyond was the sound, a channeled sea of islands and foggy weather. Sandwiched between them, an enigmatic patch of forest concealed its secrets, a barrier between opulence and the untamed.
A bone-chilling fog rolled in, veiling the nearby islands in an eerie cloak of mystery. The islands, silent and enigmatic, whispered their secrets to those who dared listen. But on this night, I had more immediate concerns that demanded my attention.
My footsteps led me towards what I knew was my path.
The forest itself seemed out of place, a remnant of untamed wilderness amidst the refined elegance of the condos and the pristine golf course. It was a forgotten corner of nature, hidden away from prying eyes, its secrets locked within its ancient trees and shadowy depths.
It was within this eerie thicket, nestled amidst the extravagant neighborhood and the tranquil sea adorned with fog-shrouded islands, that I stumbled upon a chilling discovery. Max, my loyal canine companion who had accompanied me on countless escapades, led me to a hidden grave. A heavy air of unease settled around us, and a shiver ran down my spine, for I realized I had inadvertently stepped into a dark and foreboding nightmare. Some nightmares are not cleared away in the morning light.
The forest floor was strewn with golf balls, their presence a strange incongruity against the backdrop of towering trees and decaying foliage. But it was the horror that awaited me that truly shattered any sense of normalcy. As Max began to unearth the enigma hidden beneath the earth, an ominous atmosphere descended upon our surroundings, setting the warming orchestra of my thoughts for a descent into madness.
Max began scratching at the ground, his paws kicking up small clouds of dirt. I watched him with trepidation, unsure of what he had stumbled upon. And then, the truth emerged amidst the chaos of his excavation. The forest floor, already littered with golf balls, revealed an even more unsettling sight—a skeletal hand, its bony fingers clutching a weathered club.
As Max continued to dig, my unease grew, and I could no longer ignore the foreboding sense that something terrible was about to unfold. Suddenly, a chorus of guttural voices pierced through the silence, their chilling tones mingling with the rustle of leaves and the distant crash of waves against the tranquil sea.
We huddled in the dense thicket, our hearts pounding against our ribcages like captive beasts. The air grew thick with fear and the stench of decay emanating from the newly discovered grave, just a few feet away. Max, his hackles raised, stood beside me, his eyes fixed on the abyss of the forest.
The feeling of being hunted made us hide, readied us to run. Somehow they knew that we had found their secret. Perhaps the hunters were as sensitive to fate as I.
The nightmare began with a hail of arrows, raining down from above like deadly specks of darkness. I dodged and weaved, desperately seeking cover from the onslaught. The masked men, their eyes burning with malevolence, closed in on me with flashlights in hand, casting grotesque shadows against the fog-laden trees.
A thrown bottle exploded at my feet, glass shattering and cutting into my flesh. The searing pain only fueled my adrenaline-fueled flight. The hunters pursued, their footsteps thundering behind me, accompanied by their mocking laughter and sadistic jeers.
Then, a gunshot shattered the night, its sound resonating through the forest. The other men shouted in anger, chastising the gunman for his recklessness. Chaos intensified, and I felt a tomahawk cartwheel past my ear, missing me by a hair's breadth.
In the midst of the chaos, my heart ached for Max. He had vanished into the depths of the woods, drawn away by something I couldn't fathom. I wanted to run, to escape the approaching vehicles and the hunters who sought to claim me, but I couldn't abandon my faithful companion.
Seconds turned into minutes, and minutes stretched into an agonizing eternity. The sound of vehicles grew louder, the hunters drawing closer. I was terrified and heartbroken, my mind torn between saving myself and waiting for Max.
Just as I was about to abandon hope, a shadow emerged from the gloom. It was Max, bounding toward me with a wagging tail and a glimmer of relief in his eyes. Tears of gratitude welled in my eyes as I called out to him, and he joined me, his presence reinforcing my resolve to flee this nightmarish pursuit.
With renewed determination, Max and I sprinted through the tangled underbrush, the relentless pursuit of the hunters driving us forward. Our hearts beat in sync as we raced against the encroaching darkness.
I followed Max, as he seemed to know the way - having run ahead and found our escape.
The forest seemed to conspire against us, its twisted branches reaching out like skeletal hands, ready to ensnare us in its malevolent embrace. The undergrowth became a treacherous obstacle course, threatening to trip us up with every step. But Max, ever the loyal companion, guided me through the labyrinth of shadows, his senses honed to navigate this haunting realm.
As we sprinted, our breaths ragged and desperate, the pursuing hunters closed in, their footsteps growing louder and more menacing. The sounds of their jeers and taunts echoed through the trees, a symphony of sadism that chilled me to the core.
Then, as if the forest itself decided to aid our escape, a hidden trail materialized before us. It beckoned, a sliver of hope cutting through the suffocating darkness. With no time to spare, we veered onto the path, our feet pounding against the earth, propelled by a surge of adrenaline.
The trail wound deeper into the heart of the forgotten forest, twisting and turning like a serpent, as if playing a wicked game with our pursuers. Shadows danced around us, their elongated forms whispering malevolent secrets. The air grew colder, biting into my skin, and an otherworldly hush settled over the land, as if the very essence of nature held its breath, aware of the horror unfolding within its domain.
A fog reached up from the cliffs as we ran under the open moonlight. We were exposed to our predators, yet the fog came and made us invisible to them. As we reached the other side of the cliffs and more forest, the seaside abandoned us and the fog retreated naturally.
As we raced along the path, the distant sound of crashing waves began to fade, replaced by an eerie silence broken only by the haunting calls of nocturnal creatures. Fear and exhaustion threatened to overtake us, but the thought of what awaited us at the hands of the hunters fueled our determination.
The path abruptly opened up into a clearing, bathed in an ethereal glow. Moonlight filtered through a gap in the dense foliage, casting an otherworldly radiance on a weathered stone structure that stood at the clearing's center. It was a forgotten shrine, forgotten by time and those who once paid homage to its mysterious deity.
A surge of both trepidation and desperate hope coursed through me as I realized that this shrine might hold the key to our salvation. With no time to second-guess, we approached the ancient structure, its moss-covered stones seemingly pulsating with an unknown energy.
As I stepped onto the sacred ground, an unsettling stillness fell over the clearing. Max's hackles rose, his gaze fixated on the shrine's mossy entrance. A primal instinct warned us of the ancient forces at play, but we had come too far to turn back.
Summoning all the courage within me, I pushed open the heavy stone door, revealing a chamber shrouded in darkness. A chill wind swept through the entrance, carrying whispers of forgotten incantations and the scent of decay.
With hesitant steps, we ventured into the unknown depths of the shrine, our hearts pounding in our chests. The walls seemed to close in, suffocating us with a weighty anticipation. The air grew dense with an ancient power, the residue of rituals long forgotten.
A dim light flickered at the center of the chamber, drawing us closer like moths to a flame. We stood trembling, almost forgetting our dire escape. Max began a low growl that broke into a frightened whine.
From the depths of the chamber, a haunting wail erupted, resonating with the agony of centuries past. Shadows coalesced into a towering figure, its eyes blazing with an otherworldly fire. It was the wrathful spirit of the forest itself, determined to protect its secrets at any cost.
Max barked, a valiant act of defiance in the face of an unstoppable force. I stood my ground, clutching my pack, and mustered all the courage I had left. In a trembling voice, I spoke words of remorse and reverence, offering appeasement to the vengeful spirit.
"We're drawn here...to see the grave...to escape its makers."
A hush fell over the chamber as the deity listened, its wrath subsiding, if only momentarily. In a voice that echoed through my mind, it issued a warning—a warning to never return to this forsaken realm, to leave the secrets of the forgotten forest buried in the past.
It wasn't in words, it was just a feeling. I knew what it wanted, and so did Max. It had made itself clear. It would spare us only if we abandoned our trespasses.
With a final glance back at the shrine, Max and I fled, propelled by a newfound urgency. The pursuing hunters were nowhere to be seen, as if swallowed by the very darkness they sought to unleash upon us.
As we emerged from the clutches of the haunted forest, the first rays of morning painted the sky, casting a golden hue upon our weary faces. We had escaped the clutches of the forgotten, forever marked by the consequences of horror that we had personally experienced.

I ventured through the realm of the forgotten, a solitary wanderer treading the fringes of a world I could never truly call my own. Each step propelled me deeper into the heart of isolation, where extravagant condos belonging to the wealthy loomed on one side, and the impeccably groomed greens of an exclusive golf course stretched out on the other. Beyond was the sound, a channeled sea of islands and foggy weather. Sandwiched between them, an enigmatic patch of forest concealed its secrets, a barrier between opulence and the untamed.
A bone-chilling fog rolled in, veiling the nearby islands in an eerie cloak of mystery. The islands, silent and enigmatic, whispered their secrets to those who dared listen. But on this night, I had more immediate concerns that demanded my attention.
My footsteps led me towards what I knew was my path.
The forest itself seemed out of place, a remnant of untamed wilderness amidst the refined elegance of the condos and the pristine golf course. It was a forgotten corner of nature, hidden away from prying eyes, its secrets locked within its ancient trees and shadowy depths.
It was within this eerie thicket, nestled amidst the extravagant neighborhood and the tranquil sea adorned with fog-shrouded islands, that I stumbled upon a chilling discovery. Max, my loyal canine companion who had accompanied me on countless escapades, led me to a hidden grave. A heavy air of unease settled around us, and a shiver ran down my spine, for I realized I had inadvertently stepped into a dark and foreboding nightmare. Some nightmares are not cleared away in the morning light.
The forest floor was strewn with golf balls, their presence a strange incongruity against the backdrop of towering trees and decaying foliage. But it was the horror that awaited me that truly shattered any sense of normalcy. As Max began to unearth the enigma hidden beneath the earth, an ominous atmosphere descended upon our surroundings, setting the warming orchestra of my thoughts for a descent into madness.
Max began scratching at the ground, his paws kicking up small clouds of dirt. I watched him with trepidation, unsure of what he had stumbled upon. And then, the truth emerged amidst the chaos of his excavation. The forest floor, already littered with golf balls, revealed an even more unsettling sight—a skeletal hand, its bony fingers clutching a weathered club.
As Max continued to dig, my unease grew, and I could no longer ignore the foreboding sense that something terrible was about to unfold. Suddenly, a chorus of guttural voices pierced through the silence, their chilling tones mingling with the rustle of leaves and the distant crash of waves against the tranquil sea.
We huddled in the dense thicket, our hearts pounding against our ribcages like captive beasts. The air grew thick with fear and the stench of decay emanating from the newly discovered grave, just a few feet away. Max, his hackles raised, stood beside me, his eyes fixed on the abyss of the forest.
The feeling of being hunted made us hide, readied us to run. Somehow they knew that we had found their secret. Perhaps the hunters were as sensitive to fate as I.
The nightmare began with a hail of arrows, raining down from above like deadly specks of darkness. I dodged and weaved, desperately seeking cover from the onslaught. The masked men, their eyes burning with malevolence, closed in on me with flashlights in hand, casting grotesque shadows against the fog-laden trees.
A thrown bottle exploded at my feet, glass shattering and cutting into my flesh. The searing pain only fueled my adrenaline-fueled flight. The hunters pursued, their footsteps thundering behind me, accompanied by their mocking laughter and sadistic jeers.
Then, a gunshot shattered the night, its sound resonating through the forest. The other men shouted in anger, chastising the gunman for his recklessness. Chaos intensified, and I felt a tomahawk cartwheel past my ear, missing me by a hair's breadth.
In the midst of the chaos, my heart ached for Max. He had vanished into the depths of the woods, drawn away by something I couldn't fathom. I wanted to run, to escape the approaching vehicles and the hunters who sought to claim me, but I couldn't abandon my faithful companion.
Seconds turned into minutes, and minutes stretched into an agonizing eternity. The sound of vehicles grew louder, the hunters drawing closer. I was terrified and heartbroken, my mind torn between saving myself and waiting for Max.
Just as I was about to abandon hope, a shadow emerged from the gloom. It was Max, bounding toward me with a wagging tail and a glimmer of relief in his eyes. Tears of gratitude welled in my eyes as I called out to him, and he joined me, his presence reinforcing my resolve to flee this nightmarish pursuit.
With renewed determination, Max and I sprinted through the tangled underbrush, the relentless pursuit of the hunters driving us forward. Our hearts beat in sync as we raced against the encroaching darkness.
I followed Max, as he seemed to know the way - having run ahead and found our escape.
The forest seemed to conspire against us, its twisted branches reaching out like skeletal hands, ready to ensnare us in its malevolent embrace. The undergrowth became a treacherous obstacle course, threatening to trip us up with every step. But Max, ever the loyal companion, guided me through the labyrinth of shadows, his senses honed to navigate this haunting realm.
As we sprinted, our breaths ragged and desperate, the pursuing hunters closed in, their footsteps growing louder and more menacing. The sounds of their jeers and taunts echoed through the trees, a symphony of sadism that chilled me to the core.
Then, as if the forest itself decided to aid our escape, a hidden trail materialized before us. It beckoned, a sliver of hope cutting through the suffocating darkness. With no time to spare, we veered onto the path, our feet pounding against the earth, propelled by a surge of adrenaline.
The trail wound deeper into the heart of the forgotten forest, twisting and turning like a serpent, as if playing a wicked game with our pursuers. Shadows danced around us, their elongated forms whispering malevolent secrets. The air grew colder, biting into my skin, and an otherworldly hush settled over the land, as if the very essence of nature held its breath, aware of the horror unfolding within its domain.
A fog reached up from the cliffs as we ran under the open moonlight. We were exposed to our predators, yet the fog came and made us invisible to them. As we reached the other side of the cliffs and more forest, the seaside abandoned us and the fog retreated naturally.
As we raced along the path, the distant sound of crashing waves began to fade, replaced by an eerie silence broken only by the haunting calls of nocturnal creatures. Fear and exhaustion threatened to overtake us, but the thought of what awaited us at the hands of the hunters fueled our determination.
The path abruptly opened up into a clearing, bathed in an ethereal glow. Moonlight filtered through a gap in the dense foliage, casting an otherworldly radiance on a weathered stone structure that stood at the clearing's center. It was a forgotten shrine, forgotten by time and those who once paid homage to its mysterious deity.
A surge of both trepidation and desperate hope coursed through me as I realized that this shrine might hold the key to our salvation. With no time to second-guess, we approached the ancient structure, its moss-covered stones seemingly pulsating with an unknown energy.
As I stepped onto the sacred ground, an unsettling stillness fell over the clearing. Max's hackles rose, his gaze fixated on the shrine's mossy entrance. A primal instinct warned us of the ancient forces at play, but we had come too far to turn back.
Summoning all the courage within me, I pushed open the heavy stone door, revealing a chamber shrouded in darkness. A chill wind swept through the entrance, carrying whispers of forgotten incantations and the scent of decay.
With hesitant steps, we ventured into the unknown depths of the shrine, our hearts pounding in our chests. The walls seemed to close in, suffocating us with a weighty anticipation. The air grew dense with an ancient power, the residue of rituals long forgotten.
A dim light flickered at the center of the chamber, drawing us closer like moths to a flame. We stood trembling, almost forgetting our dire escape. Max began a low growl that broke into a frightened whine.
From the depths of the chamber, a haunting wail erupted, resonating with the agony of centuries past. Shadows coalesced into a towering figure, its eyes blazing with an otherworldly fire. It was the wrathful spirit of the forest itself, determined to protect its secrets at any cost.
Max barked, a valiant act of defiance in the face of an unstoppable force. I stood my ground, clutching my pack, and mustered all the courage I had left. In a trembling voice, I spoke words of remorse and reverence, offering appeasement to the vengeful spirit.
"We're drawn here...to see the grave...to escape its makers."
A hush fell over the chamber as the deity listened, its wrath subsiding, if only momentarily. In a voice that echoed through my mind, it issued a warning—a warning to never return to this forsaken realm, to leave the secrets of the forgotten forest buried in the past.
It wasn't in words, it was just a feeling. I knew what it wanted, and so did Max. It had made itself clear. It would spare us only if we abandoned our trespasses.
With a final glance back at the shrine, Max and I fled, propelled by a newfound urgency. The pursuing hunters were nowhere to be seen, as if swallowed by the very darkness they sought to unleash upon us.
As we emerged from the clutches of the haunted forest, the first rays of morning painted the sky, casting a golden hue upon our weary faces. We had escaped the clutches of the forgotten, forever marked by the consequences of horror that we had personally experienced.

New here! 48F. I’ve had pain and stiffness in my big toe for 6 years. Last year an X-ray showed ‘moderate arthritis’, I was told due to wear and tear. I was referred for physio and prescribed amitriptyline for ‘nerve pain’ by my doctor, as I was also suffering regular migraines and achey limb joints. (I can’t take anti-inflammatories as they have caused anaphylaxis previously). Amitriptyline helped for a while, not so much anymore. Pain now wakes me at night sometimes. Physio saw me twice and said they couldn’t do much, so referred me to podiatry, who saw me earlier this year, observed lack of movement in toe, gave me insoles and referred me for a scan. Scan showed ‘active synovitis’. I was told by the scanning person that osteophytes were present meaning that bone is growing (I think), that tissue is also inflamed and that I require steroid injections or surgery, but that revision surgery is sometimes needed in future and each time surgery is performed, the bones become weaker. I was told by podiatry prior to the scan, that surgery may involve shaving the bone, removing a segment of bone or fusing the joint, but fusing could affect walking, however it doesn’t bend at the moment anyway. I have an appointment soon to discuss options, following the scan findings. I wondered if anyone else has had this problem at around my age, if so, what option did you take and how did it turn out for you?