Hey all.
Around Christmas I wrote and ran an adventure and the players died terribly during it. Tragic. I loved the storyline and the play leading up to their dramatic death at the turning point with the BBEG so much that I decided others might want to TPK their players in a cold hearted, snowy murder mystery turns mystical fight for the future.
There's a GMBinder document available here: https://www.gmbinder.com/share/-NKV-gQpIWkys9U_FtrF
Let's dive in shall we?

Warm hearts in a Cold winter

About the Adventure

This adventure places a party of level 5 characters at the center of a quarrel between two composers. It is located in Suzail but could as easily be placed in any major city.
Naturally, it should take place during a winter season or in a cold climate.

Precursor

A vengeful sylvan spirit, having possessed a young mage some weeks ago, has murdered and taken the place of a reputable maestro.
His goal is to play a piece of music at the upcoming charity gala where the nobles of the city will be in attendance, subsequently raising his army of snow borne abominations and launching his conquest upon the warm world.

Summary of Events

The city of Suzail is in celebration as the Noble Heart Winter Charity Gala is being built up with structures, merchants and performers stretching upon the promenade from the Royal Court Theatre in either direction for some distance.
The story begins with the players getting in touch with the director of the Royal Court Theater, Antonio Fellini and his assistant Nicolette Fiorelle.
In speaking to the director and his assistant, the players learn that a maestro named Giovanni has stolen the sheet music to be played at the gala by another maestro, Lucian.
Antonio suggests they check his residence and Nicolette takes the players there. Giovanni is not home. Nicolette suggests he may be at The Golden Dice, a gambling hall on the dockside.
Searching Giovannis residence, the players find a collection of cash-out receipts for The Golden Dice gambling hall and a collection of notes and drawings with a strange square signature in the corner of each. Anyone with the artisan background recognizes the signature of Hari Noshi, a tattooist on the dockside.
If the players go to The Golden Dice first, Giovanni is not there and soon after arrives a gang of thugs sent by Lucian who are also looking for Giovanni. After the thugs are dealt with, the owner of The Golden Dice informs the players that Giovanni is likely at his friend Hari Noshi's tattoo parlor down the way.
When the players arrive at the tattoo parlor, they find a robed ogre shaking down a grappled Giovanni. Archers watch close by and a scout sits hidden keeping watch on the alleyway.
If the gang from the gambling hall is still alive, they arrive to assist in any conflict. If the players manage to save Giovanni from the gang, he offers to give the players the sheet music back; he left it with a scribe named Peregrin to have a copy made, and proceeds to take them there.
When they arrive at the scribery they find the door locked but the scribe is visible through a window, hunched over his lectern. However they enter, the players and Giovanni find a dead scribe, his lips blue, a frozen quill in his grasp, frost formed on his fingers and a peaceful look on his face. Giovanni is in shock, and sees that Peregrin had copied across but a single bar of the music. Peregrin is an alchemist as well and maintains a small supply of potions for healing, cold resistance and poisons antidotes.
Giovanni lets the players have the sheet music, deciding that this has all cost him far more than he bargained. The players can decide what to do.
If they return the sheet music to Antonio, they meet Lucian, a lithe pale well dressed figure with white gray peppered hair. When he speaks, it's in a slow passionate tone. He is thankful for their work and offers a reward for the music before adjourning to rehearse. Antonio pays the players and they're free to do as they will until the gala begins.
If the players choose to investigate Lucian in any fashion, events can twist a bit. Ultimately the players should see the gala begin (unless they solve the puzzle before then) and eventually lead to Lucian's performance. As the music crescendos, Lucian's body is suddenly wracked by seizures leading to the release of a slyvan spirit and the sudden spawning of several abominable snow soldiers.
The players must defeat the sylvan creature amidst the army of Purple Dragons, the newly spawned army of snow beings, and the chaos of the galas patrons and the citizens running for their lives.

Adventure Hooks

The director of the Royal Court Theater needs help he can trust to get the sheet music back and not get Giovanni arrested. How the players meet with Antonio and Nicolette should relate to professions and backgrounds where applicable. Some of the following suggestions may work for you.

• A noble background character is delivering a thank you or picking up tickets on behalf of their noble family.
• A bard could come in contact through the local Bards College or by visiting the Royal Court Theater.
• Rogues or streetwise characters could be contacted by Nicolette who needs someone discreet.
• Fighters, Paladins, Clerics would be contacted by a guild or through a church or temple respectively by Nicolette's contacts.
• The players could be visiting the Royal Court Theater as part of a tour of the promenade.

Royal Court Theater

The Royal Court Theater in Suzail is a grand theater located in the capital city of Cormyr. It is known for its opulent interiors, which include a gilded ceiling and ornate chandeliers. The theater is home to a variety of performances, including plays, operas, and concerts. It is a popular destination for tourists and locals alike, and is often considered one of the cultural gems of Cormyr. The theater is well-known for its excellent acoustics and has hosted some of the most famous performers in the realm. It is also a frequent venue for events hosted by the royal family of Cormyr.

Meeting Antonio & Nicolette

These two are a bit frantic and unsure of what to do. Antonio is stricken yet calm while Nicolette is beside herself, blaming herself for her irresponsibility.
When they greet they players, they are polite and willing to discuss what they know if it seems the players are to be helpful.
If they ask about Lucian, they state that he left on business of his own soon after he heard of the theft.

The Theft

Antonio & Nicolette explain that the maestro Giovanni had visited to discuss the upcoming gala and what he was expected to perform.
In discovering that another maestro named Lucian was to play, he became angered and although they had assumed he had left, they soon discovered he had stolen the sheet music that was to be played.
Giovanni left a note that stated Lucian did not deserve to play the music as Lucian was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and a silver bell to call his wet nurse.
Antonio suggests checking Giovanni's home and Nicolette agrees to take the players there. The residence is only a few blocks away down the promenade.

Finding Giovanni

The players arrive at a two story brick building with a few opulent apartments, each featuring a tall archway patio window with a wrought iron railing encircling a stone patio balcony.
Giovannis apartment is one of the upper floor units although he is not home when the players arrive. The players can force entry on the door, gain access via the unlocked balcony door, or seek the landlord who lives in one of the lower units.
The landlord could be convinced to provide the key with a successful Charisma (Persuasion or Deception) check (DC 14) and a plausible story: locked out lover, family member, or parent depending on the individual. A successful Intimidation check will cause the old landlord to die of heart failure.

Nobody's home

Giovannis apartment is disheveled, with old laundry, stacked dishes, piles of parchment with ink scrawled across them and a large four post bed in disarray.
When the players search the apartment they find a collection of receipts for winnings from the Golden Dice, a dock side gambling hall.
If they roll 15 or better, they find drawings with the signature of Hari Noshi. Nicolette explains that is Giovannis tattooist.
If the players do not successfully search the apartment, Nicolette will offer that he gambles and may be at the hall.

The Golden Dice

The Golden Dice is a well decorated and well protected establishment on the dock side. It is the gambling hall known by the wealthy to be seedy but safe to patronize. Care of Dargen Goldhand, the Golden Dice has guards and free ale for house regulars such as Giovanni and any character with the Gambler background.
Giovanni is not here, and the patrons are all too engrossed in their doings to care for the players questions. Asking too many times over may bring the ire of the house guard or the patrons.
If the players seek out the management to ask about Giovanni, they're politely informed that he covered his debts some time ago and that he's not been seen for weeks.
During this time three mercenaries will arrive also seeking Giovanni. Markus, Grimgore and Vaxin consider themselves professionals and don't directly threaten the players, although they make no secret of their objective and tell the players to stay out of their way or suffer consequences. They don't attack unless attacked directly, and will otherwise rush towards Hana To soon afterward.
If the players dispatch the thugs without hearing about Hana To and let the thugs escape, Dargen offers that Giovanni could be at the tattoo shop.

Hana To

When the players reach Hana To, they find the rest of the crew that is after Giovanni as well as Giovanni and his tatooist Hari Noshi.
The tattoo shop is a mess, Hari Noshi is visibly injured, and an ogre by the name of Ogrimm has Giovanni in his grasp.

Ogrimm & Company

If the players attempt to negotiate with Ogrimm he tells the players to mind their own business or be shot. If the players press attempts to negotiate he gives the word for his archers to loose upon the two closest players.
If they still do not engage but continue to try to negotiate, Ogrimm laughs at them and continues to rough up Giovanni.
If attacked, Ogrimm doesn't want to fight to the death and will offer quarter if one or more of his crew are killed.
If the players refuse quarter, he will attempt a tactical retreat, providing covering fire using magic missiles from his wand or while he can cast them and resorting to fire bolts if necessary. If possible, he will grapple and carry Giovanni.
If Ogrimm manages to knock out or kill any of the players, he offers quarter. If the players take it, Ogrimms tells them that they can wait until he is done with Giovanni and then go about their business.
If Ogrimm is afforded the time, he will roughly interrogate Giovanni about the location of the sheet music before finding a receipt for a scribe named Peregrin on Giovanni.
Ogrimm at this point will throw Giovanni aside and leave the scene to go retrieve the sheet music from the scribe.
At this point Giovanni is badly injured from the interrogation but tells the players to get to Peregrin before Ogrimm does.
If the players have dispatched or routed Ogrimm and his crew, or taken Giovanni from Hana To and escaped, Giovanni is thankful and tells them that he is regretful for what he's done and what it's cost his friend. He takes the players to the scribe.

Peregrin's Dead

Peregrins home is a small two story brick book store with a placard that reads his name in gold serif font.
Upon arriving at the scribes residence the players will find the scribe visibly hunched over his lectern, presumably sleeping.
His door is locked however and banging on the door doesn't raise him. Observant (Passive Perception 13 or better) players will note there is a bit of frost on the windows, inside the building.
The players can get in through:

• an unlocked second floor window
• by finding the spare front door key behind a loose brick of the door frame
• breaking any of the locked first floor windows

However the players gain entry, they are confronted with a very dead Peregrin. His lips are blue his finger tips are frozen and his whole body is cold as ice.
Giovanni will be visibly saddened by this and will observe that Peregrin was working on the copy but only managed a few bars in before he died.
At this stage, Giovanni asks the players to see that the music is returned to Antonio, and states that this debacle has now truly cost him far more than he bargained.

Moonlighting

Peregrin kept a lab where he practiced alchemy on the second story of his shop.
Searching his lab will reveal 1d4 + 2 Potions of Healing, 1d4 Potions of Cold Resistance and 1d4 Potions of (Hill) Giant Strength.
In his living area he kept a modest wardrobe, a small savings of 300 gold pieces and receipts for shipments of alchemical goods and book binding equipment arriving.

Enroute

If Ogrimm and his crew are still alive, the players may have to deal with him in some fashion or get to Peregrins faster than them (eg: by horseback). It's up to the DM how long it takes Ogrimm and the crew to reach Peregrin. He is resourceful but he does not have transportation at the ready.

Meeting Lucian

Presuming that the players return to the Royal Court Theater with the sheet music, they will find Antonio, Nicolette and Lucian meeting in the main foyer.
Antonio is relieved to see the players arriving and asks for Giovannis condition. If Giovanni is dead or incapacitated, Antonio is greatly grieved by this and will lash out at Lucian for sending thugs. If Giovanni is alive, the director and Nicolette both breathe a sigh of relief and thank the players for their involvement, avoiding any mention of the thugs.
If the players provide any mention of the thugs, Lucian readily states that he hired and sent them to retrieve his property as was his prerogative. He apologizes coldly for any inconvenience upon the players and offers to pay them what he was to pay Ogrimm's crew.
If the players hand over the sheet music, Lucian thanks them and retreats from the meeting, stating that he must rehearse.
If the players ask about the sheet music before handing it over, Lucian is dismissive of their questions, stating he has no time for their petty, paltry prattlings and that he must get to rehearsals.
Antonio will parrot these statements in a more polite tone while Nicolette will stay quiet and stoic.
If the players accuse, or degrade Lucian in some way, the director, Nicolette and Lucian will all be visibly shocked while Antonio will demand that they hand over the sheet music, take their payment and leave. If pressed, he will threaten to summon the Purple Dragons justice upon the player.
If the players take payment and leave they receive a sum of 100 platinum pieces to be divided amongst them.
If they part on good terms the players are told they can expect special seating for the affairs to come.
At this point, the players are free to wander the promenade and take in the sights of the gala that is now coming under way.

The Noble Heart Winter Charity Gala

The Noble Heart Winter Charity Gala is an annual event held in the city of Suzail, Cormyr. It is a grand affair, attended by members of the royal court and the wealthy elite, as well as various nobles, politicians, and other influential figures. The gala is held in the Royal Court Theater, a magnificent venue known for its opulent decor and state-of-the-art stage and performance facilities.
The gala is held to raise funds for charitable cause, with a focus on helping those in need during the cold winter months. Organized by the Royal Court Theater and the Noble Heart Foundation the charity manages to raise a significant amount of coin each year by pitting the various noble houses against one another in a blind competition of wealth and giving.
At its core, the gala is a mix of high brow showmanship and grass roots fund raising. The various churches are well aware of the ego surrounding the noble houses and how to tread about those egos to maximize the return towards their efforts.
Those who organize the events are masters of negotiation and the effort and cunning they put into enticing the noble houses into providing as they do can not be understated.
In dealing with problems such as general toxicity, outbursts of tempers or outright violence that may surround the event, those who can will attempt to persuade and dissuade the aggressors to understand the core spirit of the event, agreeing and soothing the frustration that some may express.

The Director, Klaus Von Santos

Called a 'man of the people' by his peers, Klaus works tirelessly with a large and wide spread team of passionate people to make the gala a success each year. He can be found in any number of areas around the gala grounds. He is an aging elf of 600 years who emigrated to Cormyr some 60 years past. He has made Suzail his home and is an accomplished musician as well as event coordinator. He is a devout member of the Church of Tyr, swearing that he had his life saved once by the deity. He enjoys reading the daily news and gossip rags to 'keep up with the times' and is an accomplished Mage.

Event Organizers

The passionate people who make the gala possible run the gamut of individuals from laborers and architects to performers, organizers, and on and on. The gala and the construction thereby can be described as an organized chaos consuming the promenade surrounding the theater.

Honored Guests of the Gala

If you are placing this adventure in Suzail, in Cormyr, in the Forgotten Realms canon, then this list of noble houses should suffice as the high level roster of attendees.

Who's who

From the Obarskyrs who rule Cormyr to the Maelstroms from distant Waterdeep, every noble family worth their clout in coin can be seen at the affair. They tour about in carts, dressed to impress and to stay warm, in that order. Here are a few of the families that would attend:

House Obarskyr

The Obarskyr family has ruled Cormyr for centuries, and is the most powerful and influential noble house in the nation. The current ruling monarch of Cormyr, King Azoun V, is a member of this family.

House Barrowmaze

The Barrowmaze family is a powerful noble house in Suzail that is known for its wealth and influence. The family is involved in various businesses and industries, and is known for its charitable works and philanthropy.

House Dauntinghorn

The Dauntinghorn family is another powerful and influential noble house in Suzail. The family is known for its military prowess and its connections to the Purple Dragons, Cormyr's elite military corps.

House Bryne

The Bryne family is a wealthy and influential noble house in Suzail that is involved in various businesses and industries. The family is known for its support of the arts and its philanthropy.

House Maelstrom

The Maelstrom family is a powerful and influential noble house in the city of Waterdeep, one of the largest and most influential cities in the Forgotten Realms.

House Illance

The Illance family is a powerful noble house in the city of Baldur's Gate, another major city in the Forgotten Realms.

Sights & Sounds

There is quite a lot to see and do at the charity gala.

Decorations & Decorum

The entire promenade explodes in color and dress as tapestries, arrangements, lights and statuary are hung from buildings, or placed in the street.

Ice sculptures

The Noble Heart Winter Charity Gala features a stunning display of ice sculptures, showcasing the talents of the city's finest ice sculptors. These intricate works of art range from detailed, realistic pieces to whimsical, playful figures inspired by the winter season.

Ice skating

Guests can enjoy a bit of ice skating along the Promenades specially-made rink.

Sports

Professional athletes and local enthusiasts alike showcase their skills in a variety of winter sports, including ice climbing, ice skating, and skiing.

Fashion show

The Noble Heart Winter Charity Gala also includes a winter fashion show, featuring the latest in winter clothing and accessories.

Hot chocolate bar

From Waterdeep with love, Delphine comes to serve a variety of flavors and toppings for heated milk mixed with chocolate.

Craft brews & Fine wines

Hot mead, the finest spirits and the frothiest ales are served and on tap throughout the gala grounds as artisans local and not come to show their generosity.

Food

Culinary expertise is awash in the streets as various vendors come out to feed to destitute and any others who want a bite to eat.

Silent auction

Guests can bid on a variety of items and favors from the church and is the largest source of income for the gala.

Donations

While the focus of the Noble Heart Gala is the wealthy and the wealth they provide, there is no shortage of provisions provided by the general population.

• Blankets: Piles of blankets can be seen on carts located along the Promenade, donated towards those who need them to stay warm.
• Clothing: Warm, fuzzy coats, lined breeches, gloves, and dozens of pairs of new & old boots can be seen collected in crates and wagons.
• Food: Non perishables such as jerky or salted, wrapped meats, assorted dry goods and even barrels of ale and mead are provided for those in need.
• Heating: From old oil or wood stoves that are still serviceable to the fuels that provide their output, those who are fortunate to have a roof but no heat are thankful for this.
• Medicine: Herbal remedies, alchemical draughts, bandages and other supplies can be found collected in a few locations along the promenade.

If players wish to donate they may although to purchase anything locally is virtually impossible as everything that can be purchased to donate already has been by all the noble houses.

Events

The following events assume that Suzail is your venue of choice and provide a few celebrities from other D&D canon that dungeon masters may or may not want to include.

d10	Loot
1-2	Protestors
3-4	Drunk Noble
5-6	Fire!
7-8	Chef who?
9-10	Thief!

Protestors

A group of protestors from the various churches gather outside the gala. They are angry at the flambouyence and excess demonstrated by the gala shouting slogans and carrying signs such as:

• "Charity starts at home, not a gala!"
• "The rich don't need another party!"
• "Distraction is not a solution!"
• "Spend the money on those who need it!"
• "Showing off is not helping!"

They are peaceful but loud and disruptive.
A successful Charisma (Persuasion) check (DC 15) could convince them to take their grievances where it can be properly heard (a magister or event organizer), or a Charisma (Intimidation) check (DC 15) could scare them off.
Alternatively, a Charisma (Deception) check (DC 15) could convince them that their counter parts are else where and that they should seek them out.
If the players do not intervene, the authorities eventually show up and arrest the protesters to much maligned shouting and cursing from the protesters and any nearby gala attendees.
If the players successfully intervene, the protesters leave and the players are thanked cordially by the Purple Dragons.

Drunk Noble

A wealthy, intoxicated patron becomes aggressive towards some of the needy, calling them "riff raff" and "street rats".
A successful Charisma (Persuasion) check (DC 15) could convince them to calm down and behave, or a Charisma (Intimidation) check (DC 15) could intimidate them into behaving.
If the players do not intervene, the patron is eventually hit with a snow ball and falls over unconscious in the snow while the thrower is chased off by the authorities.
If the players successfully intervene the noble withdraws and the players are thanked cordially by the vendor.

Fire!

A fire breaks out in a greasy food stall, quickly engulfing the whole of the stall in a horrible blaze. Throwing snow upon the greasy fire causes it to spit and burst wildly. Throwing mud upon the fire wil slowly douse it away.
If the players do not intervene, the stall burns to the ground.
If the players successfully intervene, they are lauded loudly and the establishment owner offers them lodging at a local inn and meals anytime they wish.

Chef who?

A self proclaimed gourmand by the name of Gurney has lost their pass and is trying to enter the gala. He claims he's from Phandalin, come a long way to provide his services, and is visibly frustrated.
A successful Charisma (Persuasion) check (DC 15) could convince the gate guards to let them in, or a successful Intelligence (Investigation) or Wisdom (Perception) check (DC 15) can find their pass wedged in the floor boards of the drivers seating on their wagon.
If the players do not intervene, the chef is told he can purchase a vendors pass with the organizers to which he shrieks that he already has before turning around and leaving.
If the players successfully intervene, the chef thanks them cordially and tells them to visit him once he is set up. If they do, he gifts them with a Bowl of Endless Soup.

Bowl of Endless Soup

Wondrous item, rare (requires attunement)
This simple clay bowl appears to be unremarkable white clay, but upon closer inspection, it is adorned with a border of engraved sigils translating to 'soup' in various languages.
When an attuned user speaks the word 'soup' in their language, the bowl will produce a never-ending supply of steaming hot soup.
The soup constantly replenishes itself and never seems to grow cold or spoiled.
While attuned to the bowl, you gain the following benefits:
You are immune to the effects of extreme cold and starvation.
As an action, you can command the bowl to fill with soup of any flavor you desire. It does not produce stew.
Soup produced this way will satisfy any hunger and restore 1d6 + 4 hit points to any creature who consumes it while the soup is fresh from the bowl. Soup transferred to another vessel loses its effect after fifteen minutes and tastes as bland as water.
The effects of the soup last until the creature takes a short or long rest.
The bowl will remain filled with soup until commanded to empty, at which point it will become empty until commanded to fill again.

Thief!

A pickpocket is operating in the crowds at the gala.
A successful Perception check (DC 15) could notice them in the act, or a successful Charisma (Deception) check (DC 15) could pretend to be a wealthy patron and attract them. A successful Charisma (Persuasion or Intimidation) check (DC 13) can get them to leave under threat of the authorities.
If the players do not intervene, they may find themselves victims of the pickpocket. The pickpocket is sighted some time later and arrested soon after by the Purple Dragons.

Bad blood

If Ogrimm and his crew are still alive and were not routed, they will seek out revenge against the players for costing them the job with Lucian.
The crew will organize an ambush at the gala using whomever is still alive.
Ogrimm will look for an opportunity to take care of business off the beaten path and if no good opportunity presents itself he will patiently await his chance.

Investigating Lucian

If the players grow suspicious of Lucian and look into his behavior they will notice a few strange details.

Obelisks & Orihalcum

If the players look for Lucian in the gala, they can find him doing a tour of the promenade. If they follow him they will find him approaching each of the obelisks mentioned above. At each one, he places a small piece of Orihalcum upon the sigil.
If he is approached about this, he states that he is supporting the cause and doing his part for the celebrations.
If the players vandalize an obelisk the Purple Dragons will be summoned and the vandals arrested or driven off.

Loosely dressed

If a player character has a passive Perception score of 15 or higher, they will notice that Lucian is dressed in a simple open collar shirt, silk breeches and high boots; far under dressed for the cold weather.

Cold atmosphere

If a player character has a passive Perception score of 15 or higher and stands within 5 feet of Lucian, they will notice the air is noticeably colder near him.

Frosty breath

If a player character has a passive Perception score of 15 or higher they will notice that when Lucian speaks indoors, his voice steams or that when he speaks outdoors, it does not.
\pagebreak

Crescendo

The central point of the gala is the unveiling of the honors that the noble houses will appreciate for their gifts to the those in need.

Laments of the Frost

The time comes eventually for Lucian to perform his music for the eager nobility.
As Lucian's music fills the air, the temperature begins to drop rapidly.
A burst of icy wind erupts from one of the frost obelisks scattered throughout the gala. A fog quickly rolls through and a howl is heard as a pack of snow wolves materialize out of thin air as beyond them can be heard the tromp of footsteps, the screams of people and the sound of a war horn
The obelisks pulse with cold energy and a blue shaft of sparkling light pulses into the sky from each of the obelisks.
The players must work quickly to destroy the obelisks if they hope to stop the spawning of the sylphs minions and weaken the spirit and ultimately defeat it.

Winter Frost & Company

When the sylvan spirit bursts from his vessel he arrives with a searing cold vengeance and a near army of cohorts. As the gala erupts into a catastrophic war of winter kind hunting the population, the Purple Dragons can be relied upon to leap into action as do the many private companies protecting their noble patrons.

Winters Frost

Medium humanoid (elemental), neutral evil

• Armor Class 16 (natural armor)
• Hit Points 71 (13d8 + 13)
• Speed 30 ft. ___ STRDEXCONINTWISCHA :---::---::---::---::---::---: 14 (+2)18 (+4)12 (+1)14 (+2)16 (+3)18 (+4) ___
• Saving Throws Dex +7, Wis +6, Cha +7
• Skills Deception +7, Perception +6
• Damage Immunities Cold, Fire
• Condition Immunities Charmed, Exhaustion, Frightened, Paralyzed, Petrified, Poisoned
• Senses Darkvision 60 ft., passive Perception 16
• Languages Common, Giant, Infernal
• Challenge 5 (1,800 XP) ___ Frost Aura. Winters Frost is surrounded by an aura of cold that extends 5 feet around him. Any creature that touches him or hits him with a melee attack while within 5 feet of him takes 5 (1d10) cold damage.

Magic Resistance. Winters Frost has advantage on saving throws against spells and other magical effects.
Magic Weapons. Winters Frost's attacks are magical.
Innate Spellcasting. Winters Frost's innate spellcasting ability is Charisma (spell save DC 15). He can innately cast the following spells, requiring no material components: At will: frostbite (1d8 + 4 cold damage) 3/day each: ice storm, wall of ice
Snowstorm (1/day). Winters Frost can use an action to create a storm of snow and ice that fills a 30-foot radius centered on him.
The storm lasts for 1 minute or until Winters Frost dismisses it as a bonus action. While the storm persists, Winters Frost has advantage on Dexterity (Stealth) checks made to hide, and creatures other than Winters Frost have disadvantage on Wisdom (Perception) checks made to detect him. In addition, any creature that enters the storm or starts its turn there takes 5 (1d10) cold damage.

Actions

Multiattack. Winters Frost makes two melee attacks.
Frostbite. Ranged attack. +7 to hit, range 60 ft., one creature. Hit: 8

Snow Wolf

Medium beast, neutral

• Armor Class 12
• Hit Points 7
• Speed 50 ___ STRDEXCONINTWISCHA :---::---::---::---::---::---: 12 (+1)14 (+2)8 (-1)3 (-4)12 (+1)6 (-2) ___
• Saving Throws Perception +3, Stealth +4
• Languages understands Common, Sylvan but can't speak
• Challenge 1/8 (25 XP) ___ Keen Hearing and Smell. The snow wolf has advantage on Wisdom (Perception) checks that rely on hearing or smell.

Actions

Multiattack. The Creature Name makes Number and type of attacks
Ability Description. Attack Style: Attack Bonus to hit, Reach/Range, one target. Hit: Damage Damage Type damage
General Ability Description. General Attack Description

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The above-bolded text is pertinent to Grand Theft Auto, a widely popular game franchise that allows you to perform carjackings (among other violent and heinous acts). However, what's interesting is that games like Grand Theft Auto and its ilk have been around for decades; this is nothing new. A game like Grand Theft Auto alone couldn't possibly be responsible for the rise in the city's carjackings. Still, lawmakers and city officials are seemingly trying to tie the young ages of some of the carjacking suspects with the fact that the COVID-19 pandemic means that many children are at home, spending more time playing video games.
grand theft auto carjacking The youngest [recent] carjacking suspect was just 12 years old, and a 14-year-old was arrested in January for "taking part in multiple carjackings," according to Fox News.
"I feel like this game has become a huge issue in this spectrum," said Walker in an interview with the Chicago Sun-Times. "When you compare the two, you see harsh similarities as it relates to these carjackings."
As a counterpoint to the rumblings in Chicago, a decade-long study concluded that this is no credible link between kids playing violent video games and, in-turn exhibiting violent behavior.

Hey fellas. Here's Part 10 of the Exploits of Irving Reese.
I decided that I would retire my fanfiction.net account so I can focus on posting my stories on AO3 and Reddit.
As per usual, you can also find this story and my other works Here. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Irving and Enterprise woke up next to each other. Oklahoma and Malcolm’s wedding was coming soon.
Enterprise volunteered to help Oklahoma with dress shopping. While Irving, Samuel, and Warren all decided they were going to help Malcolm make plans for the wedding.
Enterprise and Oklahoma were busy looking through shop windows. The engagement ring on Oklahoma’s hand was shining in the light, and she still could not get over the fact that she was going to get married.
The two shipgirls stopped at a store that had a beautiful white wedding dress.
“I think it looks perfect on you, Oklahoma.”
“You think?”
They entered the store, and Oklahoma put it on. She smiled as she checked herself out in the mirror.
“You’re right!”
Enterprise smiled.
Meanwhile, Irving, Malcolm, Warren, and Samuel were talking about plans for the wedding with the commander. The news about the wedding had spread like wildfire, as it was the first time a shipgirl from the Eagle Union was getting married.
“So the wedding will be on September 19th, and it will be at the church on the Eagle Union part of the base.”
The Commander pulled out a gift bag.
“I have something for you, Malcolm.”
Malcolm opened it and could not believe his eyes.
Inside was a set of pink and greens. They had the patch of the 29th Infantry Division on the sleeves, along with the two chevrons of a corporal on them.
“Thank you, Commander. The other men will wear suits at the wedding.”
After the meeting was over, Irving went back to Enterprise’s room. He saw Enterprise sleeping on the couch. He laid down next to her and slept.
He knew he would have quite a busy few months ahead of him.
The next few months happened as if they didn’t exist. Irving was getting ready for Malcolm’s bachelor party. They were going to the bar with Malcolm and the men, as they planned the bachelor party months ahead of them.
Soon, Irving was at the bar. He saw where Warren, Samuel, and Malcolm were sitting. Irving joined them.
“Hey, bartender. A round of vodka shots for me and my friends.”
The bartender gave each man a shot of vodka.
Irving raised the glass into the air.
“To Malcolm. May he be the best husband he can be.”
“To Malcolm!” The group shouted in unison. They clinked their glasses together and began the party.
After a while, they could tell that they had maybe a bit too much to drink.
Irving was seeing double, and he could barely stand. Realizing that none of them could drive. Irving called anyone one of his phone contacts that wanted to answer.
Fritz picked up on the other line. Irving's raised his eyebrows.
“Hello? Irving? Why are you calling me?”
Irving hiccupped on the other end.
“Ah, Fritz, Buddy. Look, the fellas and I need a lift. Do you feel like being the drunk wrangler? We’re at the bar in the Eagle Union part of the base.”
Fritz sighed and pinched his fingers on his nose. He knew that his bachelor party ended the same way. Bismarck’s husband Heinz hade to pick him up.
He sighed.
“Alright, I’m coming to pick you up.”
Irving hung up his phone.
“Ay, Fellas. Lettin you guys know, Fritz is comin’ to pick us up.”
Before they knew it, Fritz was there to pick them up.
Malcolm rode in the front seat, as he was the least intoxicated out of the men. "I don't want Oklahoma to have to deal with me being hungover."
Warren, Samuel, and Irving all got themselves inside the backseat.
Fritz had to put the seatbelt on for the men, like he had to do for his children when they were younger.
As Fritz drove the men home, Samuel had to vomit.
Unfortunately for Irving and Warren, they were in the splash zone when he did it. Irving and Malcolm could feel the warm fluid on their shoes.
Fritz was at a red light when it happened, and as soon as he smelled vomit, he knew that one of them was the culprit. His eyes could barely contain his fury.
“Alright, who was the one who threw up?”
Samuel raised his hand, and Fritz sighed and shook his head.
“Sorry, Fritz.” Samuel was busy trying not to fall asleep.
“Don’t apologize to me, apologize to Tirpitz. It’s her car.”
Samuel could not help but blush out of embarrassment and drunkenness. Soon, the car reached the Eagle Union dorms.
While all of this was happening, Enterprise was at Oklahoma’s bachelorette party. They decided they would do some drinking and hang out at the mall.
The group was getting quite intoxicated. However, Enterprise noticed that Oklahoma did not even have a single drink.
“Why are you not drinking?”
Oklahoma blushed. She had never seen Enterprise drunk before. Her face was as red as a tomato.
“I’m the one that is getting married tomorrow, and I don’t want to be hungover for my wedding.” Oklahoma bit her lip. She was trying to keep herself from telling the real reason.
“Plus, I volunteered as the designated driver for my bachelorette party, so there's that too.”
Enterprise, Arizona, Nevada, and New Jersey all laughed as they realized that all of them were too intoxicated to drive.
Oklahoma ushered the group into her car, and she drove back to the Eagle Union dorms.
Enterprise made her way back to her room and vomited into her toilet. Her hangover had already started.
Fritz ushered the men out of the car. Fritz turned to look at Irving.
“Irving, you own me one.”
Irving knew that Fritz and Tirpitz were going to be in a very foul mood come morning. But that was not here and now. Irving and the men had to focus on making it to the dorms and sleeping off the booze.
After all, he had a massive day tomorrow.
Irving walked up to Enterprise’s room. He opened the door and confronted by a somewhat angry and also slightly hungover Enterprise.
“Where were you? Do you know how late it is!”
"Sorry Enty. I lost track of-"
Irving gagged as he ran to the toilet and puked. Enterprise watched him as he sounded like a dying donkey. She calmed down. She knew she did the same thing and that the best thing for a hangover was to rest and rehydrate.
Enterprise went into the kitchen and grabbed some water bottles. She knew that the more water Irving drank, the less hungover he would feel in the morning. She found Irving lying on the floor of the bathroom, barely conscious.
“Come on, drink this.” Putting the bottle to his lips as if she was feeding an infant.
Irving’s eyes went wide as he felt the water enter his throat. He drank it, and his eyes closed slowly.
Enterprise smirked and chuckled. Irving reminded her of an infant drinking away at a bottle. Irving looked at Enterprise.
“More.”
He reached for the other water bottle. Enterprise propped Irving against the wall of the bathroom and handed him the other water bottle.
Irving downed the water bottle quickly. He felt insanely thirsty, as if he was in the desert for two days straight.
Enterprise giggled. She never seen Irving drink so much water in such a short amount of time.
“Irving, you keep drinking like that. You’re going to piss the bed!”
Irving smiled. He knew Enterprise was no longer mad at him.
“You care to join me? I have a feeling you're gonna be hungover as well if you don’t drink like I am.”
Enterprise nodded and went to the kitchen to grab some water bottles, she returned to the bathroom and sat next to Irving.
“So, how was the party?”
Enterprise was cracking open the water bottle in her hands.
Irving laughed. “I mean, other than us almost getting kicked out of the bar, and Samuel puking in Fritz’s car, I say it went very well.”
Enterprise laughed. “It sounds like you guys had fun.”
She gulped her water bottle. It oddly impressed Irving at the feat he had witnessed.
Enterprise soon drank the second water bottle she had brought with her. After a few minutes of sitting on the bathroom floor, she got up. She reached for Irving to pick him up.
She carried Irving to bed.
“How was the bachelorette party?”
“It was fun, but Oklahoma didn’t drink a thing. Oklahoma told me she didn’t want to be hungover for her wedding.”
Irving yawned, exhausted from the night he had.
“But isn’t that the fun part at a wedding? Getting drunker than a skunk?”
Soon, Irving fell asleep. Irving awoke in the middle of the night to vomit.
He was hungover.
However, he had a wedding to attend in the morning.
Irving and Enterprise woke up next to each other. They got into the shower together and got dressed.
Irving was wearing a suit, and Enterprise was wearing a dress. Today was the day that Malcolm and Oklahoma were getting married.
They walked outside to the site of the leaves on the trees turning colors. September and Autumn had hit the base.
Irving and Enterprise made their way to the church.
Irving made his way to where Malcolm, Warren, and Samuel were.
They could tell that Malcolm was nervous. He was checking himself in the mirror, making sure that everything looked correct and that he was ready for his big day. Irving looked at his friend and gave him a small smile.
“Mal, you’re gonna do alright.”
Malcolm took a deep breath and looked at the men. Irving’s look reassured him.
Elsewhere in the church, Oklahoma was vomiting into a toilet. Nevada was on the other side of the door, listening to her sister.
“Okie? Are you alright? What’s wrong?”
Oklahoma was going to claim that it was nerves. She, however, knew the truth. Her sister could keep a secret for at least twenty-four hours.
Oklahoma opened the door to see her sister in the doorway.
She whispered the truth into Nevada’s ear. Her eyes went wide.
"Please don't tell anyone else. Especially Malcolm. I don't know how he will react."
“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. Now let’s get you into your wedding dress, m’kay?”
Malcolm was standing at the altar, Irving standing next to him, as he had made Irving his best man at his wedding.
“Do you think I look good enough?”
“Relax. You’re going to do great.”
The church’s organ began playing “Here comes the bride” and Malcolm saw his bride walking down the aisle.
She was beautiful in her wedding dress. Nevada was already at the altar, waiting for her sister.
The priest began the service.
Soon, the couple said their vows.
“I, Malcolm Hall, take Oklahoma to be my wife, and promise to take care of her in sickness and health, till death do we part.”
He was trying to keep himself from crying tears of joy.
Oklahoma blushed as she held Malcolm’s hands.
“I, Oklahoma, take Malcolm Hall to be my husband and promise to take care of him in sickness and health, till death do we part.”
“You may now kiss the bride.”
Malcolm leaned over and kissed Oklahoma on the lips. The crowd cheered.
After some time, the couple had their first dance, and they were in heaven in each other’s embrace.
Soon it was nighttime. Irving and Enterprise left to go back home. They were in their room and in their underwear.
In the middle of the night, Irving got a call from Malcolm.
“Irving! You would believe it! Oklahoma told me that she's pregnant! I’m gonna be a dad!”
He could barely contain his excitement about his impending fatherhood.
Irving’s eyes went wide. He couldn’t believe that Malcolm and Oklahoma already had a jumpstart on starting their family.
Of course, he had reason to suspect that something was up. He noticed along with Enterprise. Oklahoma refused to drink anything alcoholic during the reception.
All he knew was Malcolm was excited he was going to be a father.
And Irving was happy for him.

So you've stumbled across this post likely bored and looking for some entertainment... Well I have some news for you.. You've come to the right place! You ever just want to talk about random BS without judgement? Pitch a horrible business proposition, pick some random goobers brain, well.. my dms are wide open. Come on in and introduce yourself!
A little about me though if you need something to help break the ice with. I am 25, I dont take myself to serious, like at all. Love to laugh at myself, others or really anything. Hopefully you do to? a whopping 5'10", blonde hair, hazel eyes. Night owl with a 5 am job. It doesn't work well for me but I try my best. Outdoors enthusiast. Good listener, who is wise beyond my years with little life experience. I know it doesnt make sense.
Random facts about me/ possible conversation starters.
Coincidentally my name shares the root word of a condition I have (colorblindness)
My personality ISFJ-A / ISFJ-T
Ive taken off in a plane but have never landed in one.
Im an introvert with extrovert tendencies.
If you read through all this, bless your poor soul and get on in the dms. Itll likely be a shit show but atleast it will be fun!

Tl;dr : In theory, all short term rentals in the province should be registered and rated through their local touristic boards. This is both complicated and expensive, so it has widely been disregarded by Airbnb hosts. It is estimated that in the city of Montreal, 90% of Airbnb listings are not registered.
Recently, an apartment building caught fire. Turns out that several units were Airbnbs, including one where the occupants' last deed on this earth was to call 911 to say that they where trapped inside an appartment without any windows.
Airbnb has now announced that they are going to remove any listing in the province that is not entirely legit and registered.
https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/montreal/airbnb-listings-permits-quebec-government-1.6789949

Violence is on the rise in Chicago, and lawmakers are looking for ways to drive those numbers back down. One stat that has drawn attention in recent weeks is the city's number of carjackings. According to Chicago police, carjacking surged by 134 percent for 2020, bringing the total to 1,415. Rep. Marcus Evans Jr. (D), whose district covers Chicago's South Side, wants a sales ban to minors on violent video games like Grand Theft Auto. Evans is proposing an amendment to an existing 2012 law that prevents the sale of violent video games to minors. Illinois House Bill 3531 (HB3531) has been updated to add the following language:
Modifies the definition of "violent video game" to mean a video game that allows a user or player to control a character within the video game that is encouraged to perpetuate human-on-human violence in which the player kills or otherwise causes serious physical or psychological harm to another human or an animal...
Modifies the definition of "serious physical harm" to include psychological harm and child abuse, sexual abuse, animal abuse, domestic violence, violence against women, or motor vehicle theft with a driver or passenger present inside the vehicle when the theft begins.
The above-bolded text is pertinent to Grand Theft Auto, a widely popular game franchise that allows you to perform carjackings (among other violent and heinous acts). However, what's interesting is that games like Grand Theft Auto and its ilk have been around for decades; this is nothing new. A game like Grand Theft Auto alone couldn't possibly be responsible for the rise in the city's carjackings. Still, lawmakers and city officials are seemingly trying to tie the young ages of some of the carjacking suspects with the fact that the COVID-19 pandemic means that many children are at home, spending more time playing video games.
grand theft auto carjacking The youngest [recent] carjacking suspect was just 12 years old, and a 14-year-old was arrested in January for "taking part in multiple carjackings," according to Fox News.
"I feel like this game has become a huge issue in this spectrum," said Walker in an interview with the Chicago Sun-Times. "When you compare the two, you see harsh similarities as it relates to these carjackings."
As a counterpoint to the rumblings in Chicago, a decade-long study concluded that this is no credible link between kids playing violent video games and, in-turn exhibiting violent behavior.

“God said to Abraham, "Kill me a son"
Abe say, "Man, you must be puttin' me on"
God say, "No, " Abe say, "What?"
God say, "You can do what you want Abe, but
Next time you see me comin', you better run"
Abe said, "Where do you want this killin' done?"
God said, "Out on Highway 61"
The radio, a martyr’s relic from a bygone era, sounded half as faded as I was.
I reeked of vodka and middy weed. I didn’t care. This lonely stretch of highway belonged to no one as far as I was concerned, and you gambled taking the curves in the dark.
It was your fault if you choose to gamble with me. Least, that’s the way I saw it.
Texas felt so far away.
“Well, Cowboy Dan's a major player in the cowboy scene
He goes to the reservation, drinks and gets mean
And he's gonna start a war
He's gonna start a warrrrrr
And he hops in his pickup
Puts his pedal to the floor
And says, "I got mine
But I want more"
Because Cowboy Dan's a major player in the cowboy scene
He goes to the reservation, drinks and gets mean
He goes to the desert, fires his rifle in the sky
And says, "God, if I have to die, you will have to die"
I hacked up what felt like part of a lung. My hand was stained, the oxidized rust of old blood mixed with a fresh coat of red, a fresco that highlighted a life poorly lived.
Wait.
What happened to Bob Dylan?
Or was it Johnny Cash?
Wasn’t I just listening…
Gaps in time. I prayed I hadn’t taken the ketamine.
That was for later.
If you want proof time is just a strongly worded opinion, just slip into a k-hole.
That was for later.
My eyelids felt heavy.
There were no stars.
Endless pines, only shadowy outlines in the dark, still cover for the night’s starving predators, were all I could make out.
I just guessed at where the road kinked and turned and straightened.
I was playing a game with God, and I wanted to lose.
I wanted us all to lose.
“Dance, Dance to the radio
While the, Devil takes control,
Dance, Dance to the radio,
While the, Devil takes control…”
The warm hug of oblivion, a feeling like endless cookies and Saturday morning cartoons, began slipping its infinite arms around me.
Come and See, and I saw.
It was still the witching hour when I woke with a startled gasp. I could feel the claws of need, withdrawal, dragging up my arms, burrowing into my skin, making the back of my eyeballs vibrate.
Every day the need grew stronger, and every day, I killed off a little bit more of me.
One is too many, and a thousand is never enough.
I was in a ditch.
This wasn’t new or news. I tended to wake up in a lot of ditches. Beats Motel 6. Fewer roaches and you could smoke in every room.
My truck wouldn’t start.
Not even the wheezing gasps of a machine trying to cling to artificial life. Just a click and utter silence.
The battery couldn’t be dead. I checked my watch.
5:55 A.M.
I figured I’d tried to hit the eternal snooze button around 3 A.M. It had only been a few hours. Battery should be fine.
A cursory inspection showed no external damage. No blown tires, no misbegotten wires or missing spark plugs. Hell, it seemed like I’d just slowly cruised into this dark little corner of the universe.
It was as though the truck just gave up the ghost and said, "I’m done." The thirsty horse dropping to the ground in an endless desert, done with the death march.
I bear crawled up the small ravine and onto the highway.
A generous term for a lonely road in whatever the Hell backwater burg America had shit out here.
All I could see were outlines in the dark.
Fitting, I thought.
And then an explosion stole my vision.
Let there be light.
And there was.
And it was good.
Especially good.
Because it was a bar.
A ramshackle of a spot, dive joint meets biker meth hangout, from the looks of it, and it was just powering up.
Shit, if you couldn’t drink on Sunday morning, were we really free? Were we really God’s children at all?
I started ambling toward the light, my eyes adjusting to the deep gloom.
“The Man from Capernaum.”
Hell of a name for a spot in the middle of BFE.
Hell of a name.
Hell.
Hell, I needed a drink.
My watch read 6 a.m. but it was 5 o’clock somewhere, and this place had electricity buzzing it had to pay for and didn’t much strike me as the sort of establishment that probably saw the law as anything more than a nuisance.
I sauntered up to the door, my black boots clicking loudly against the rotten wooden porch.
Into the lion’s den we go.
Unsurprisingly, it was empty as a church on Friday night. Why kill the Son if you can’t have the sin, after all?
But it was unlocked and music was softly crooning from somewhere.
“As I went down in the river to pray
Studying about that Good Ol’ Way
And who shall wear the robe and crown
Good Lord, show me the way”
Fantastic. No bartender and proselyting in a shit joint. That’s just what my migraine and itchy skin called for.
I considered hopping the bar and grabbing a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, but this struck me as a place where your head might become acquainted with a shotgun right quick and nobody would kick up much fuss.
I was going out, a lamb among wolves, but on my terms. I’d had enough violence. I wanted to feel the void swallow me whole, not feel a hole swallow my head.
Plopping down on an empty stool, I risked lighting up a smoke. Certainly they wouldn’t get bent out of shape over a cowboy killer or two.
And shit, who was there to kick up dirt anyway? A ghost town without the spirits, save the ones just behind the bar and out of reach.
The tantalizing fruit in the garden.
God, I need a cold one, now.
“Till armageddon no shalam, no shalom
Then the Father Hen will call His chickens home
The wise man will bow down before the throne
And at His feet they'll cast their golden crowns
When The Man comes around”
The hairs on my arm stood up.
That wasn’t the gentle croon of some A.M. gospel channel. That was someone singin’ in the bar.
In the furthest stool at the left end of the bar, a wild looking man sat, intermittently taking greedy gulps of amber beer and singing loudly, his other arm flailing frenetically as though conducting an unseen orchestra.
Ah, good, a ninja crackhead. That’s just what I need.
He looked over at me and I leapt from my chair and damn near outta my boots.
Ancient as the hills, this man looked like he’d just come down the mountain from communing with the darkness itself.
God damn.
A wild, grey, patchy beard splayed out in every direction, as though the hair itself was trying to escape the vessel that grew it.
The crown of his head was bald but the rest was shaggy white hair, matted in some places, errantly sticking up in others, as though it couldn’t choose between electrocution and submission.
He wore what looked like a white robe, but it was stained with all manner of mess. Copper, brown, yellow, black. Blood, shit, piss, and Heaven only knows what. A fetid robe of many colors.
Tattered, rudimentary sandals held in dirty feet with long, yellowed toenails.
The man reeked worse than sulfur. Worse than death. It was like the pungent stank of the human stain clung to him with reckless abandon.
He was chubby and withered and maddened.
But none of that held a penny to his eyes.
Orbs of the purest white, ringed with seared, blackened flesh around the edges.
Nothing but endless, empty white that somehow felt like it saw nothing but what we all couldn’t see. Nothing of this world but everything we hide in it. Our lies, the horrors behind the masks, what we do in the dark, this tattered, horrible amalgam we have the audacity to still call “a soul.”
Fuck this.
I went to run but found I had no will to do so.
My boots had become one with the earth, like the leather was finally gonna join the cattle that had to die for me to feel like a man.
A crash of thunder stole my hearing, a tiny whirlwind began lifting and smashing bottles from behind the bar.
The seals of the bottles came open, spraying spirits everywhere.
The bar was alight with white fire and a light blasted through the bar that would embarrass the Sun.
Then all was silent and still.
“Nice hooves,” the man said in a velvety baritone.
I looked down at my black boots and back up at him.
There is probably a drug cocktail somewhere in existence where, if mixed properly and taken with utter scientific precision, probably unlocks the gates to Heaven in the human consciousness.
I think I might have found the one’s that unlocked Hell’s.
The man wore a wide, warm grin. Authentic and inviting, the jovial visage of every TV grandfather. Creature comfort. He no longer looked like a raving maniac.
Far from it.
The man was now young, maybe late 20’s.
Golden, feathered locks elegantly curved just behind his ears.
A black cardigan, dark jeans, and new Grecian sandals graced a well-kept temple, a body of with seemingly perfect porcelain skin.
Sapphire blue eyes, pools of painful beauty, the kind that feels like a knife twisting your gut, looked at me with compassion.
I could smell lilac and some spice that seemed reminiscent of a world long gone by but made me what want to curl up with a blanket and read a good book by the fire wafted my way.
A single, marred tattoo of a small cross ran down the index finger of his left hand.
The man sat down and said, “why don’t you and them hooves join me, Pappy?”
I go by a lot of names to keep myself safe in this shithole world, but I hadn’t gone by my real name since I beat a kid black and blue in elementary school for mocking me for it and my daddy had told me he was proud of me. Put a cigarette out on the back of my neck later that same night after a few too many for causing trouble.
The duality of man or whatever the Hell the academics prattle on about, I guess.
“They’re boots,” I snarled, playing at bravery, bluffing like I did every day of this wasted life, hopin’ it might but him back on his heels.
I didn’t know if I was messing with some damned creature not of this world or was just higher than a kite and seeing nonsense. While the latter seemed far more likely, I wanted to prepare for the former.
“Sure,” he said kindly, “sure.”
I sat down on the tattered stool.
“Where’s the bartender? And how the Hell do you know my name?”
“Calm down, son. You look like you could use a drink of the old blood. Sure beats those poisons you keep sticking in that body we gave ya.”
A wine glass appeared before each of us, filled to the brim. The man, or whatever it was, sipped away, humming some forgotten hymnal.
“I ain’t much of a vino fan. Got any Irish whisky?”
He lifted his glass as though to toast me and said “Sure. And you certainly will need that later. For now, the grapes of wrath, as it were.” A soft chuckle left his lips.
I sipped the wine. No sense bucking the bull when you don’t know how big or angry it really is.
It tasted like nothing I had ever had before. An indescribable, wicked deliciousness.
It warmed me up and filled me with light and hope and covered up all the dark holes that had punched through me by others.
Even plugged the ones I’d punched myself.
“We?”
The man took a small sip. “Sorry?”
“You said ‘the body *we* gave ya. *We*.”
It was only then I noticed he was crying.
There were no sobs, no audible gasps, no tremors or shakes, just slow, steady tears of blood dripping from those perfect blue orbs.
“Name’s Arah. I’m an Angel.”
Arah downed the goblet of wine, flecks of his bloody tears caking the glass’s rim.
“Behold, I send an angel before you to guard you on the way and to bring you to the place that I have prepared.”
This obvious machination of my drug addled brain chuckled louder this time, a slight slur and anger tinging his words.
“I’m even less for all that religious babble than I am for wine. Though this shit’s pretty damn good, I gotta admit.”
“LIAR!” Arah screamed, shaking the whole bar. His eyes were wide and obsidian and his chest heaved heavily.
“Liar.” This, a quiet whisper.
“You spent your whole life in church.
You soaked up every hopeful word, every promise of redemption and fixing, and the truth of that still rattles around inside you.
You can stick all the needles you want into that arm so you can lie to yourself and take away the pain you were meant to bear, but you can’t lie to me. We see everything, for we are many.”
Arah refreshed his glass with a small flourish of his hand before downing it again, his disposition getting slightly wobblier.
“DRINK!” he screamed, and when the world stopped shaking and those eyes turned blue again, I sure as shit started pounding the fermented fruit.
Ain't the time to be picky.
“You aren’t having a bad trip. I'm having a bad trip.”
The endless tears of blood fell quicker, like a swift red river coursing from a deep blue waterfall.
Small pools of it began forming of the bar. A slight acrid smell was on the air, barely noticeable behind all the wonderful aromas.
I felt warm and real and firm. I felt human again. My glass had been refilled and I downed another.
Okay, so I was getting wasted with an angel. Admittedly a first, even for my winding and warped road, but getting blitzed on Jesus Juice sure beat pissing off some emotionally unhinged cherub motherfucker.
“I can’t find Him. I can never find Him.”
Slight groans left Arah’s lips and he gulped down another glass.
With a minor twitch, the glass flew and smashed against the wall.
A nanosecond, if even, after the sound of shattering, it reappeared anew, full of the deep blood wine, before him, and he slurped it down his gullet.
I was trying to keep pace with him.
Shit I could drink a fifth of whisky and make it home alive but something in this good good had me slippin’. A part of me knew I should be petrified to ask, but the rest of me was too faded to care.
“Find who? What brings you here, cryin’ tears in yer beers?”
Now I was the one slurring.
“Take them.”
I looked down at the bar.
A belt. A syringe full of something brown and beautiful.
All the gear.
And six shots of what I prayed was Jameson.
“But where sin increased, grace abounded all the more.”
Arah was slurring hard now, slowly spinning in his chair, laughing and crying.
“Have a taste. At least there’ still manna.”
I shot the whole thing and downed that beautiful Irish whisky. Warmth and light filled me up and stole me away from this putrid rock.
Somehow, as wrecked as I was, I felt I could see Arah all the clearer, like the Sun pushing out the remnants of a storm. His hands looked withered, and those blue eyes looked heavy and tired.
“I miss Him. God. Father.”
I began to mumble some apocryphal question, but a raised hand silenced me.
“We’re taking communion here, son, an act of contrition, of grief, celebration and loss. I’m not giving about to give you a seminar on the finer points of how you all bungled what we gave you and called it ‘religion.’ Just shut the fuck up and drink.”
We downed a glass of wine in unison, a broken human and clearly a broken angel, performing a ritual at the alter we were left with.
“You wanna know why I’m here drinkin’? I know you do. I can hear it rattling around in that little rat brain of yours, gnawing, gnawing, gnawing.
Well, here’s why. GOD LEFT.
You remember your Bible.
Like a schizophrenic mother when the voices just crept too far in, he drowned all his children in the bathtub. He felt regret.
You apes can’t come to terms with the fact that it isn’t cognitive dissonance to be perfect and make mistakes. Your binaries and absolutes are the pathetic crutches you rest on, the prisons you build for yourselves. You think you live in the grey but you don’t. You are the simple minded mistake of something far greater than you could possibly fathom.
Hell ain't nothin' but a door locked from the inside.
He was right to drown all of you, ya know.
You’re an abortion that didn’t take.
You’re the science experiment gone wrong.
You’re the motherfucking poisonous residue left over when the manufacturing process goes the slightest bit awry.
He TRIED. He gave you EVERYTHING. And you chased him away.
He wanted to put you all down. Wipe the slate clean. Shoot the wolf with the broken leg caught in the trap. Mercy. But He had made those fuckin’ rainbows, and He kept his word.
You all sit and pout and scream and gnaw and gnash and blow each other up. Always the same shit in this horrible flat circle.
"My god is real, your god is fake! "
You never once consider you’re all talking about the same damn thing, and more to the point, you're spend your entire lives debating His existence. What a catastrophic waste to be so far from the mark.
Is He real? Is He a fairy tale?
Is there a big bearded man with a sword in the sky or is it just what some primitive apes told themselves to explain the lights in the night sky, a mechanism of control and purpose in an entropic and meaningless world?”
I felt frozen listening to Arah rant.
Somewhere, between the distant sound of brutal words, I heard that radio kick on.
“The Third Planet is sure that they’re being watched
By an Eye in the Sky that can’t be stopped
And when you get to the Promised Land
You’re gonna shake the Eye’s hand”
“You won’t.”
Arah spoke quietly and sipped and audibly sobbed.
“I…I won’t what?”
“Shake his hand. He’s GONE.
You all fight with words and books and swords and shells and atoms about whether he exists. It’s your relentless, simpleminded addiction to dichotomy. It would be so boring if it wasn’t so sickening.
You think He exists, and if He does, He is here and He loves you and hears your stupid little prayers about football and bone cancer and bank accounts and AIDS.
And if He doesn’t exist, well, it’s just a bunch of conmen working over some fools with a fairy tale.
Any of you shitbirds ever consider He exists and LOATHES you? That he cut the cord to that existential phone line and ain’t nobody on the other side of that line anymore?
You live in an infinite universe that is forever exploding and expanding. He exists outside of even that.
You think you’re special? You’re one tiny experiment among so fucking many, I couldn’t make the smartest mathematician in the history of this planet understand how infinitesimally numerically irrelevant you are.
The question isn’t, is God real or is it all a hoax, a self-delusion?
The salient question, Pappy, is whether He’s here. And He ain’t.
He kept his word and let you all live and fester and replicate and mutate like the virus you are. The fruit that ate itself.
But daddy split. Went out for smokes and He ain’t never coming back. Moved onto a new family. Just like He's done again and again and again. And I'm guessing will keep doing 'till He decides He got it right. Ain’t been here for a long time. Long, long time.”
6 glasses of wine appeared before Arah and he downed them all with lightning speed, spewing blood, sobbing and gasping and drinking.
His hair greyed and whitened and fell to the floor.
His nails began to decay and yellow.
The smell of shit and piss and bile crept up and began to make me nauseous.
“And you know who got really fucked? US. The angels.
God gave us instructions and we followed it. We knew what we had and we didn’t deviate. We did our duty. And He left us behind, too.”
Arah’s clothes began to whiten and dirty.
The enrapturing blue of his eyes began to fade, growing paler and lifeless. A wild, twisted beard and belly began to sprout.
“Then it goes and takes along with it seven other spirits more wicked than itself, and they go in and live there; and the last state of that man becomes worse than the first. That is the way it will also be with this evil generation."
Arah began shrieking.
"Fucking humans.
I AM AN ANGEL OF THE LORD YOUR GOD, AND I AM BOUND FOREVER TO THIS SHITHOLE OF A ROCK, ENDLESSLY SEARCHING THE COSMOS FOR A FATHER I CAN NEVER FIND, TRAPPED IN A PRISON I CAN NEVER LEAVE, FOR A CRIME I DIDN’T COMMIT.
YOU ALL DID THIS.
YOU ALL DID THIS.
YOU DID THIS.”
Arah leapt up and grabbed me by the throat, lifting me on high.
Fire scorched his eyes, leaving empty pale pools singed to a blackened crisp at the edges.
The wild, infested thing I’d seen before held me as though I weighed less than the judgment feather.
He was sobbing.
“I…I just did what I was told.
Do you know what Hell is? There’s no fucking lake of fire or torture rack with goats.
It’s this.
An endless existence having tasted God’s grace and love and then forever being separated from it, eternally searching for that one drug you know you can never find.
'Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely: and pined his loss.'
This, this place, is Hell.”
All the opium in the world couldn’t save me from the stark terror of this celestial’s tortured judgment.
I was quaking and pissed myself.
“Now I got ya shakin’ in your boots. Nice hooves.”
He threw me and I slammed against the wall and I felt every ounce of wine and heroin and whisky spill out of my body and onto the floor.
In that moment, I felt the unmitigated suffering of absolute sobriety, and I’ve been sober every moment since.
This wild, unfettered thing inched closer to me.
It was only then I noticed the tattoo on his finger more closely. It was…clearer to me now. Everything was. That little cross on his finger was upside down as it faced me.
“What does your name mean, Arah? What did you do that made God leave all his angels behind?”
Arah opened his mouth and two snakes, one a viper, the other a colorful coral, slid out of his mouth and began encircling his head and neck, never striking, never squeezing, simply coiling infinitely.
“YOU FUCKING APES. I’LL RIP THE SOUL OUT OF EACH OF YOU AND EAT IT FOR LIFE ETERNAL.”
Arah, this manifestation of man’s worst nightmare, leapt at me, blood spewing, snakes dancing, the bar shaking and burning and reeking.
Alas, Babylon, for me.
Inches from me Arah froze, held still by some unseen force, his mouth snarling words that only came out as unintelligible, wet squelches.
A voice from the bar’s door whispered a single word.
“World.
In the first tongue, 'Arah' meant ‘World.’
At the door stood an older black woman with the kindest eyes I’d ever seen.
She wore a bracelet of thorns and a dress made of every flower my mind could conceive.
Golden eyes flecked with amber looked at me lovingly.
She quietly sauntered up to Arah and shook her head wistfully, a disapproving but loving mother wishing her child would just behave.
“You would do well to accept your place here, Arah. The Father may be gone, but this is where you and your lot stay. It was not man’s fall that bound you here.
Tell him what you did...Angel.”
Arah fell suddenly to the barroom floor, all the strength clearly sucked out of him.
“I..I did what I was told. I followed the orders I was given. It was for Him, Uriel.”
Uriel tutted her tongue as though an impudent child had told her a silly, obvious fib.
“You can lie to yourself all you want, Arah, but you cannot lie to me.
You, who whispered endlessly to Herod.
You, who dwelt in Caligula.
You, who served Qin Shi Huang.
You, who sought refuge in Robespierre .
You, who possessed Mengele.
‘And the angels who did not keep their positions of authority but abandoned their proper dwelling—these he has kept in darkness, bound with everlasting chains for judgment on the great Day.”
Uriel helped me to my feet, brushed me off, and lightly put her hand on her cheek. It was the only moment in my life I knew what the word “home” meant.
“And you won’t lie to Man, either.
You remember the deal you begged for, Arah? Let remind you:
'They began to entreat Him, saying, “If You are going to cast us out, send us into the herd of swine.'
You had the gall to call his creation, however staggeringly imperfect, swine.
You got what you asked for, then.
And you will have it for all time.
Get behind me.”
Uriel picked me up as though I were a mere baby and carried me to my truck. She laid me gently in the passenger side and started the engine.
The radio kicked on.
“I’m a rolling stone
All alone and lost
For a life of sin
I have paid the cost
Take my advice
Or you’ll curse the day
You started rollin’ down
That Lost Highway”
As she pulled away, I looked back at The Man from Capernaum one last time.
It was consumed in fire and the squeals of pigs shrieking carried through the cool night air.
“Do not pity him.
‘You cannot drink the cup of the Lord and the cup of demons.’
God may have left this world but let the Demon burn.”

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Hello again,
This happened so long ago, I wanted to make sure I wrote it down with as much detail as possible.
During the 80s, my mom, who had a lot of friends, liked to celebrate, and have house parties. It was mom’s turn to host in our modest house containing a small living room, a small kitchen, a small bedroom, and a small bathroom. The advantage was that there was a large space in front of the house that led to an even bigger backyard. At the time, I was 6 or 7 years old. I was bored out of my mind with the music booming. Through the abundance of Michelob beer bottles and KFC chicken tubs, mom still managed to cook something for my brothers and I—white rice, pinto beans, steak strips, and fried plantains. One of those old war films was on TV. I think it starred Clark Gable as the lead actor. A good friend of my mom gave me a bag of M&M’s. That gave me great joy. With my brothers now asleep in the lone bedroom, I went outside to enjoy the wispy cold air. I stood near the porch of our neighbor. The darkness of that house contrasted with the beaming lights coming out of mine.
A figure emerged from the porch behind me. My neighbor, Susan, came over to me with a wide smile on her face. Her green eyes always managed to mesmerize me—I think she always knew that. I offered her some of my M&M’s. After a while, she asked if I wanted to go somewhere a little quieter. I, being tired of the music and lights, agreed and followed her to the center patio which was almost embedded in darkness. The only part of that patio that remained visible was the white refrigerator, which was tucked against a corner of another neighboring house. Susan headed towards that refrigerator. We went in front of it which was facing the house wall. She suddenly opened the door causing us to be completely enclosed from any prying eyes. Susan looked at me with those enchanting green eyes—Want me to show you something? Before I could say anything, she kissed me. The kiss seemed to last a long time. Tongue and all, it was a brand-new experience for me. Afterwards, she closed the door and retreated to her house—I hope you liked it, she whispered before disappearing. I was left wanted more. I guess biology started to kick in. She was 15. I peered into the metallic black door and the inner wooden door was still open. I called her name several times in hopes she would come out again. But she never did.
During the following months, I would infrequently see Susan—mostly when she would go to school in the mornings. I recall rushing back from school hoping to catch her returning. However, I would never see her coming back during the daytime. I suppose she would come back at night. Her mom, her aunt and two little brothers lived there. Paying a little more attention, I would notice random men and women arriving and leaving the house next door. They all had something in common: they wore dark jeans and either white t-shirts or tank tops. Most of the time they would also have dark hoodies. Years later I would discover that Susan’s mom and aunt were in a gang. All the unsavory activities would catch up to them as they were forced to move out one year later. I would only see Susan a handful of times since.
Eventually, my family and I ended up moving into the bigger house. Over 5 years passed by when there were loud knocks on the metal door at night. I happened to be in the living room watching TV. I decided to peek from the curtain next to the door. I saw Susan and a friend of hers. Both had dark jeans and white tank tops along with hoodies. Susan wore dark lipstick and heavy makeup that made her unrecognizable from the night we kissed. I told mom that it was Susan and a friend. She went ahead and opened the door. As they came inside, I stood next to mom hoping Susan would say hi to me. She never acknowledged me—Hi! I’m sorry for coming here so late. Can we use your bathroom for a bit? My mom looked a bit put off by the request, but still ended up letting them through. I did not know what they were doing, but there were in the bathroom for a long time. After an hour they both rushed into the living room, open the door and disappeared into the night.
A year later, Susan would go on to have a baby boy. Another year would go by and my mom sat down on the couch next to me and gave me the news—I am sorry but Susan has died. It turned out that one night Susan was on a payphone and was spotted by a rival gang. Shortly after finishing a phone call to her mom, where she asked how her baby was doing, Susan was summarily shots multiple times.
Throughout the years, I always thought of the ways I could have helped her out—how things would have been different if she would have come back outside that night we kissed. I just hope she has the peace she was denied in life.

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​
Synopsis:
Juliette Contzen is a lazy, good-for-nothing princess. Overshadowed by her siblings, she's left with little to do but nap, read … and occasionally cut the falling raindrops with her sword. Spotted one day by an astonished adventurer, he insists on grading Juliette's swordsmanship, then promptly has a mental breakdown at the result.
Soon after, Juliette is given the news that her kingdom is on the brink of bankruptcy. At threat of being married off, the lazy princess vows to do whatever it takes to maintain her current lifestyle, and taking matters into her own hands, escapes in the middle of the night in order to restore her kingdom's finances.
Tags: Comedy, Adventure, Action, Fantasy, Copious Ohohohohos.
​
Chapter 3: Kingdom In Debt
There were more empty chairs than usual today.
Dinner was becoming a rather solitary affair, wasn't it? In my memories, I could hear the grandstanding and the laughter as my brothers and sisters fought, argued, laughed, and did something that was a mixture of all three.
That was many years ago now.
A tragic thought, considering I surely wasn't old enough to be able to look back on times gone by. Yet time ran swiftly for royalty. Especially at dinner.
I placed my napkin down on my plate, satisfied at a meal shorn of any wonky carrots, if not the crumbliness of the sweet potatoes.
The plates belonging to my mother and father were long cleared. Clarise was dining alone in the observatory, dabbling as she did in her trinkets and toys. The rest were working. Dinner, still. But working dinners nonetheless.
My eldest siblings were enamoured with politics, and were thus exempt from our mother and father's fussing. Even without being given the choice, they would dine with the daughters and sons of the Ducal Houses.
Already, there were rumours of factions as influence ebbed and flowed between them.
I didn't believe any of it, of course. In other nations, other kingdoms, perhaps. But not this one. House Contzen did not do in-fighting. Except when Roland let out the most abominable of smells while sharing a carriage with Tristan. Then there was blood. Usually when Mother put a stop to it.
Otherwise, we were well behaved … if not exactly normal.
Yes, even for someone as far removed from normality as I, even I could recognise that what I was seeing in front of me was not normal. And I was not referring to the untouched confit de canard braised with hot oranges. No, that was just eccentric. And disgusting. Please don't ever make it again.
No, what I knew was not normal … was the 14 layer cake that was threatening to either touch the ceiling or collapse the table beneath its weight.
“Did you enjoy today's gratin dauphinois de patates douces, dear?” asked Mother, beaming with excitement as she lowered her teacup. She'd finished drinking it over ten minutes ago. “The spring harvest is truly bearing fruit this year. Everything was delectable.”
Next to her, Father gave a chuckle as he toyed with an orange from the fruit basket. I wondered if that's why they all tasted somewhat shrivelled up.
“The stewards say that this year's yields will be our finest yet,” he said. “The markets will be teeming with people from all across the continent for our seasonal wares.”
I cocked my head and gave a puzzled smile. Wasn't that what the stewards said last year? And the year before last?
If so, it'd mean that quantity was truly no replacement for quality. What good was more food if I could only stomach less of it? The bourguignon d'agneau was overdone, the gougeres were dry and the oeufs en meurette were the consistency of tepid pond water. How could I live in these conditions?
Why, if I didn't know better, I'd almost say that the food tasted ... old. It's a wonder I was still alive!
“That brings joy to my heart,” I replied, pushing my semi-emptied plate away. A maid immediately scooped it up and retreated to the kitchens. “Our beautiful kingdom can only be made richer still by the presence of so many curious visitors experiencing the fruits of our labours.”
“Well spoken, my dear. Wealth begets wealth. Ours is a prosperous land. And it is only both wise and fair that it's enjoyed by people from across every realm.”
My father smiled with unabashed enthusiasm. I couldn't help but smile in return. Even though I knew that we were simply avoiding the main subject here.
The extremely gaudy 14 layer cake smothered in cream and strawberries.
“Mother, Father.” I let out a small cough. “The cake. I can't help but notice that the maids began assembling it during dinner.”
“Oh, goodness, did you notice?” said Mother, looking sheepish. “I hope it didn't ruin the surprise. I actually hoped that the construction process would have been rather more discreet.”
“No, Mother, they were very discreet. Why, when the topmost layer began toppling over, I barely noticed as three of the maids locked arms to prevent a collapse, while another utilised a halberd from the wall to lodge it back into position.”
My mother let out a sigh of relief.
“Good, good. Then I suppose it hasn't all been to waste.”
“That would depend. The question needs to be asked. Why, Mother and Father, do we have such an extravagant cake prepared?”
“For you, of course!”
Both Mother and Father smiled at me. I smiled back, as all my tutelage taught me. I was quite proud of this. Because inside, I wasn't smiling. Oh no. Not at all. I was peering down a chasm as wide as the ground once this table inevitably collapsed under the weight of this cake.
Because as certain as the fact that all the maids had conspicuously retreated from the hall, a cake on a day where no cake should be served was the guillotine for my good, if slightly strange day.
“I see.” I swallowed. Hard. “Thank you. It looks wonderful.”
“You're very welcome, dear. The strawberries are your favourite variety. And the cream was only whipped minutes before the cake was assembled.”
“Yes, the gleam is very enticing. However, I must apologise. The occasion has completely evaded me. If I may be so bold as to ask, why are you gifting me with such a luxurious cake, topped with my favourite strawberries and freshly whipped cream?”
My mother elbowed my father, who elbowed my mother, who kneed my father, who shouldered my mother, who headbutted my father.
“My dear,” said Father, his eyes spinning slightly. “Do you remember Duke Hallingsey?”
“I do. He visited two years ago. His beard left a strange trail on the floor as he walked. I could not tell whether it was hair or something living inside it.”
“That's the fellow! And what do you think about his son?”
“I'm afraid I didn't meet him. He was, if I recall, too busy introducing himself to the statues in the gardens. Should I ask them if he was charming?”
My father's smile quivered momentarily. I couldn't tell if he was struggling to maintain his forced expression, or if I'd simply said something to actually amuse him.
“Darling,” said Mother. “Duke Hallingsey's son is a worthy match for you. Although it's true that in the past he was known for his eccentricities, he has been tempered into a fine young man. Just as you are a fine young lady. All we're asking for is a meeting.”
“A meeting.”
“Yes.”
“Just a meeting?”
“Just a meeting. And also marriage plans.”
“I see. Thank you, Mother and Father. It's as you say, the son of Duke Hallingsey is a fine match. I will, of course, consider this meeting in due course. Once I've made my decision, I'll inform you immediately.”
I nodded, smiled, and rose from my—
Rose from my—
Rose from—
I looked down.
Hmm. Interesting. I wasn't rising from my seat.
Despite my legs clearly working to eject me from this chair, the fact remained that I was firmly stuck to it. Only the chair itself moved, its heavy wooden frame budging by approximately half an inch as I forced my muscles to push against what felt like a wall.
I smiled at my parents.
“Why am I stuck to this chair?”
Mother leaned forwards and cut a small slice of cake. She placed it over a plate, considered me, then began nibbling on the end instead.
A wise choice. Offering me the cake would have been offering me a weapon.
“A troll caravan visited the villa earlier. They touted us a new invention created by the greatest minds of the Mage's Guild. The traders called it … what was it, darling?”
“Super glue.”
“Yes, that's it. Super glue. Its efficacy is stunning, wouldn't you say? It creates an unbreakable bond between almost any material. Why, we even managed to fix the crookedness of your grandfather's portrait. It no longer tilts on its own.”
Crank. Crank. Crank.
I scraped the chair across the marble floor as I forced it to move one chair leg at a time.
“Yes, highly impressive,” I replied. “Almost as much as your attempts to marry me off.”
“Really, dear!” said Mother. “There could be worse matches. If Duke Hallingsey's son isn't quite your cup of tea, then there's also—”
“Neither Clarise nor Florella are married. And Roland and Tristan's engagements are indefinitely postponed.”
“Your brothers and sisters are working hard to secure the future prospects of this kingdom in their own ways, dear. It's not necessary for them to remove themselves from a table they may still use for their advantage.”
“I can do that when I'm older. The same as them. Why is this being discussed now? What is this about? This is quite clearly out of the blue. Your last attempts to marry me off at least came with a hint of subtlety.”
“Oh? You actually knew?” Mother's eyes lit up with triumph as she turned to Father. “You see? I told you she wasn't tone deaf to social nuance. She was just being difficult.”
“I'm not tone deaf and I'm not difficult,” I said, continuing to noisily slide my chair towards the nearest door. “Now, why are we, and I mean the both of you, suddenly seeking a marriage arrangement for me?”
My mother looked at my father. This was all the bad news she was willing to give.
“We're bankrupt,” he cheerfully said, before accepting a piece of the cake being offered by my mother. “Gosh, we overpaid for these strawberries, didn't we?”
“Dry as a wicker basket. I told you so, darling.”
“I apologise. Next time, do ignore me if I try to go with my gut instincts. You need to be more incessant.”
“I try. But you've failed so much with your gut instincts that you're always convinced the next will be correct.”
“Well, a streak has to break at some point, doesn't it?”
“Mother! Father!”
I slammed my palms down on my thighs. I could hear the glue setting even further. My regret was deep.
“How are we bankrupt?! Do you mean to say that we're … that we're … poor?!”
Father nodded as he slid a crystal glass of amber wine towards himself.
I almost fainted on the spot. Although I wasn't sure how much of it was due to physical exertion. Chairs were remarkably heavy.
“The truth is that the previous years have been rather difficult for the kingdom, dear. The promised crop yields never materialised. Ships have ceased to trade at our ports owing to the pirates in our straits. Rival criminal syndicates plague the capital and monsters stalk the open roads, all the while our soldiers must stand vigilant against the continued skirmishes on our eastern border. Our forests are beset with unfathomable snow and a hole into the abyss has been discovered in our mines. Oh, and Duke Valence is in open revolt. Really, it's been one thing after another. We've done what we can do stifle the effects. But there is only so much we can do. Our vaults are now empty. Would you like a slice of cake?”
I stopped skidding forwards, then slowly, twisted my chair around.
This … This sounded awful?!
“Why didn't I hear about this before?!”
My father smiled kindly at me.
“There was no need to tell you, dear. And in truth, we may well have not needed to. Your brothers and sisters are securing alliances, loans and deals as we speak. There are promising winds, if nothing more. If all goes well, then perhaps this marriage proposition is not needed, after all.”
My arms fell to the chair's sides.
My brothers and sisters. So they knew. But of course they did. They were the shining stars of the kingdom. And what was I, but a princess in her tower?
I thought back to the days of sloth I enjoyed. To the scandals and the villainy I read about in my books. To the countless hours I'd spent tending to the apple trees, napping in the grass and shooing away any force of nature that dared disturb me. I … well, I did not regret a single moment of any of that.
But I did feel terrible. I wasn't a help. I was a burden.
This … This cannot be allowed to continue!
I am Juliette Contzen … and I refuse to be poor! I had ... I had living standards to maintain!
“I understand, Mother, Father. Please rest assured that I'll devote all thought towards restoring our family's … no, our kingdom's finances. As your daughter ... and as the 3rd princess to the throne, I solemnly promise that I will not permit our noble country to fall into the throes of destituteness.”
The expressions on my parents' faces were brighter than even my sword, which had lit up the orchard as though I were wielding a star.
In that moment, I knew what I had to do.
​
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Violence is on the rise in Chicago, and lawmakers are looking for ways to drive those numbers back down. One stat that has drawn attention in recent weeks is the city's number of carjackings. According to Chicago police, carjacking surged by 134 percent for 2020, bringing the total to 1,415. Rep. Marcus Evans Jr. (D), whose district covers Chicago's South Side, wants a sales ban to minors on violent video games like Grand Theft Auto. Evans is proposing an amendment to an existing 2012 law that prevents the sale of violent video games to minors. Illinois House Bill 3531 (HB3531) has been updated to add the following language:
Modifies the definition of "violent video game" to mean a video game that allows a user or player to control a character within the video game that is encouraged to perpetuate human-on-human violence in which the player kills or otherwise causes serious physical or psychological harm to another human or an animal...
Modifies the definition of "serious physical harm" to include psychological harm and child abuse, sexual abuse, animal abuse, domestic violence, violence against women, or motor vehicle theft with a driver or passenger present inside the vehicle when the theft begins.
The above-bolded text is pertinent to Grand Theft Auto, a widely popular game franchise that allows you to perform carjackings (among other violent and heinous acts). However, what's interesting is that games like Grand Theft Auto and its ilk have been around for decades; this is nothing new. A game like Grand Theft Auto alone couldn't possibly be responsible for the rise in the city's carjackings. Still, lawmakers and city officials are seemingly trying to tie the young ages of some of the carjacking suspects with the fact that the COVID-19 pandemic means that many children are at home, spending more time playing video games.
grand theft auto carjacking The youngest [recent] carjacking suspect was just 12 years old, and a 14-year-old was arrested in January for "taking part in multiple carjackings," according to Fox News.
"I feel like this game has become a huge issue in this spectrum," said Walker in an interview with the Chicago Sun-Times. "When you compare the two, you see harsh similarities as it relates to these carjackings."
As a counterpoint to the rumblings in Chicago, a decade-long study concluded that this is no credible link between kids playing violent video games and, in-turn exhibiting violent behavior.

Like so many on this subreddit, I've been hacking away at the ChatGPT API since it debuted, so intent on building something interesting and useful with this new technology!
I'm a self-taught programmer who fully knows his limits. This is one of the reasons I'm so thankful for tools like CoPilot and simply asking ChatGPT for code, because they've really allowed me to code quicker than I ever have. Still, I wanted to find a very simple idea I could execute and get into public hands as soon as possible.
For those of you old enough to remember tinyletter.com, it was an extremely simplified newsletter creation tool that was eventually acquired by Mailchimp. I really appreciated the pure design and focus of this previous company that I decided to name my service tinynews.ai as an homage.
You can visit my site 👉 https://tinynews.ai

So what is a Bespoke Email Newsletter Service?

It seems since the rise of Substack and niche communities like Patreon, email newsletters are en vogue again and having a mini-renaissance. I decided a simple straightforward newsletter that could be 100% generated by AI could be really interesting. As I thought more about the idea, I realized I could personalize every email too, so that every email that is sent is unique to the subscriber!

Personalized News At Scale

Since before the dawn of our recent OpenAI revelations news has always been communicated in the same fashion. News begins at a single source and is then distributed widely to many recipients, basically a 1-to-many relationship. The primary reason it's done this way is due to cost. It would never scale for the WSJ or NYT to create a unique version of their newspaper for every one of their readers... that is until very recently.
At ✨tinynews, we inject personal information like Name, Gender, Birthday, Profession, Reading Preferences, and Summarization Styles into the prompt prior to summarizing the specific topics this subscriber is interested in.
Once the personalized summaries are complete they are merged into a pre-made html email template which looks like you would expect a modern newsletter like Morning Brew, or Finimize to look.
Over time subscribers will answer surveys that will continuously refine their news preferences and eventually become the most important email they consume every day (or eventually on-demand).

AI Serendipity

I think most of us by now have felt that initial delighted feeling one of the first times we saw a response back from ChatGPT after typing in our early prompts. I've tried to keep that feeling embedded in my newsletters, so have included some special sections, but you'll need to subscribe to experience what I mean. 😁

My Dev Stack

As I said, I'm a self-taught developer who knows his limits. I also wanted to figure out how to rely on no-code tools and interfaces for as much of this app as I could.
​

• Tally.so - excellent notion-like form builder good enough for a front-end MVP
• NodeJS - simple function I can call to aggregate, summarize, and send each newsletter
• {Insert News API here} - this is my secret sauce, but I'll continue to add more sources as we go
• ChatGPT API - Spend a lot of time on prompts, as the quality of your responses can vary greatly
• SendGrid - API friendly email sender that has a quality html email builder that is easy to use
• Make.com - NoCode orchestration tool like Zapier, that I schedule to trigger my function 1x per day

If you find this interesting, I'd love to have you as an early subscriber!
👉 https://tinynews.ai
If anyone has any feedback you can just reply to my emails- I'll read every response.
​
Onwards and Upwards 🖖

Read THE Z TEAM: Book 1 on Amazon in ebook/print/Unlimited here.
Reading Links: Royal Road ScribbleHub
Book 1 Sample Start Book 2 Start Previous
***
Supervisor Durio arrived at the Mounteque sixty-eight minutes after Carnen gave Kemp his ultimatum.
The delay wasn’t Kemp’s fault. She requested an off-the-record debriefing using their cover identity as Ministry of Security agents, the same method she’d first contacted him. Durio agreed and approved a priority docking request at a private airlock reserved for admins and VIPs. He wiped the evidence and then came aboard the ship later than promised.
Carnen got the feeling that was done on purpose but brushed it aside. Durio was in for a surprise if he thought power games would have an effect on the operative teams.
Eptus greeted the supervisor. His pretentious expression broadcast his noble lineage. He offered an excuse but no apology. “I was delayed by bickering captains about to ram each other over who was ahead in the docking queue.”
“I understand, supervisor. Please, follow me,” Eptus said in a measured voice which meant he thought Durio’s answer was bullshit.
While Eptus escorted the supervisor aboard, Warden team waited in the main bay, the cam stream from the interrogation compartment on a display. The converted interior hold now contained a bare table and a chair on either side.
Carnen watched Kemp as she worked on her datapad. She’d shared the intelligence file on Durio while they waited for the Mounteque to dock. Stevson sat in a chair and rested his feet on top of a container, eager to watch what should be an interesting debriefing.
“Durio's from one of the minor noble houses,” Carnen said to Kemp. “According to this report, they have wealth and prestige, but no hope of ever competing for the Imperatrix seat. But that changes if the charter passes and the old guard is phased out. How did you get him to do something that benefitted his political enemy?”
Kemp offered him a self-assured smile. “There is no greater motivation than one’s own beliefs.”
On the display, Eptus led Durio into the interrogation compartment. The operations supervisor stepped inside, walking in the proper posture and measured gait of his noble lineage. He took in the bare room with an air of displeasure, as if it were beneath his presence.
“Please, have a seat,” Eptus said. Durio sat on the table’s far side, Eptus sitting across from him.
“We appreciate your willingness to expedite our request,” Eptus said.
“I would hope so. I put my career on the line in doing what was asked of me to protect the Provenance. I thought you would’ve rushed away from here after retrieving the,” he paused, lowering his voice like he was whispering a secret, “agitators. They cause a commotion wherever they appear, riling up the commoners with their fiery rhetoric.”
“Here’s the problem, Supervisor,” Eptus said. “They weren’t in the container you instructed us to collect.” He opened an image of the container’s interior on the table display.
Durio peered down at it. If he faked a confused expression, he did a fine job of selling it. “A waste recycler? I don’t understand. I saw the transfer pod go into that container. The singers were in it.”
“How can you be certain it was them?”
“Because three female Pree exited Zellis’s theater via the maintenance tunnels and rode a transport pod to whose destination was a reserved luxury suite. It’s not channel science, Supervisor. I watched them board the pod, set it for a maintenance appointment, and locked it down. Here is the proof.” He squinted, sharing a vid to the display. Cam footage of the singers entering the pod. Warden team saw it too, a window on their wall display mirroring what was on the table in the room with Eptus and Durio.
Carnen saw no reason why it couldn’t be the singers. The females looked fit and moved with grace.
“If that is them, the Mystery Man wasn’t with them,” Kemp observed.
“Maybe they fired him after the show. I think he screwed up a few times,” Stevson said. Carnen peered at the pilot. He shrugged. “I told you, I like their music. I’ve seen enough media to know that there were a few choreography mistakes.”
Kemp looked down at him over her datapad. “Should I be concerned that your admiration is a conflict of interest?”
Stevson snorted like the question was ridiculous. “Of course not. They don’t pay me. Kosmogenic does.”
“There are only three explanations,” Eptus went on, drawing Carnen’s attention back to the display. “Either you made a mistake, you swapped the container out on purpose, or someone else swapped the container.“
Durio’s face hardened with indignation. “I didn’t make a mistake or try to deceive you. How dare you chastise me after all that I risked in carrying out this scheme—”
“Let him speak,” Kemp said to Eptus over a comm. The Warden team leader sat there and absorbed the verbal barrage from Durio.
Kemp peered down at her datapad, studying something intently before tapping on the device. Carnen noticed Durio begin to struggle to find his words, his face rippling with emotion. His rant sputtered to a halt. He peered around the room as if disassociating from the conversation.
“Supervisor?” Eptus asked after a stretch of silence.
Durio, now calm and collected, reengaged with Eptus. “I did as you asked. There were no mistakes, I assure you. Someone else must have switched the container before you loaded it. We can check the security cams.”
On the display, a new POV loaded; a wide-angle perspective of the berth holding the container with the transfer pod inside. Durio fast-forwarded through the vid. Tugs, ships, and containers zoomed past. He paused when a tug arrived at the berth. He played it at normal speed. The tug removed the container and delivered it to a freighter that had slipped into the top portion of the POV. The tug returned a minute later clutching a different container and placing it in the berth.
“Damn the Spirits! Someone swapped the container,” Durio said.
“We need to know who,” Eptus said.
“Give me a moment,” Durio said, face twitching. “According to the logs, the container you received was the correct one. Obviously, someone altered them.”
“Who could’ve done this?”
“Fraenk, the other operations supervisor. I never would’ve guessed he had the mental capacity to pull it off.” Durio straightened as he thought of something. “Fraenk brought people into operations for a bit. He said they were hauler friends, and he was giving them a tour.”
“We need to talk to this Fraenk. Can you summon him here?”
“He finished a double. He won’t be happy about this.”
“You’re chief supervisor. Why do you care?”
Durio paused as he opened a comm to the other supervisor. “You haven’t met Fraenk.”
***
Fraenk arrived twenty minutes later looking like he’d been roused from a deep sleep. The hulking Manore stopped outside the airlock hatch, waiting for someone to open it.
Eptus and one other Sentinel operative greeted him. “Supervisor Fraenk, thank you for coming. If you’ll follow me,” Eptus said.
Fraenk eyed the ship’s interior with suspicion. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell this is about. Where’s Durio? Why aren’t we meeting in Sanctum operations center?”
“This concerns a sensitive Ministry of Security matter that we wish to discuss with you and Supervisor Durio. Come with me, please.”
“Is your translator module working? I said I’m not going anywhere until—“
Carnen stepped into view from the side of the Mounteque’s airlock. “Time to come aboard, supervisor. And don’t even bother with your PD. It’s not going to work.”
Fraenk’s expression flickered with concern as he gazed at Carnen, no doubt confirming his lack of access to the station hub. “What’s a Human doing with the Pree Ministry of Security?”
“I'm here to corral supervisors who don't follow orders.”
Fraenk didn’t move. Carnen drew a stunner. The Manner supervisor saw the deadly serious expression in the operative’s eyes and stepped into the Mounteque’s airlock.
***
Fraenk sat on the table’s far side in the hot seat where Durio had been a short time ago. Durio was seated in the opposite chair, hands clasped, his expression the scolding glower of a professor who’d caught a student cheating.
Kemp and Stevson observed from the main hold with the rest of Sentinel team, but Carnen picked a front-row seat in the interrogation hold. He had a feeling Fraenk wouldn’t be cooperative based on Durio's opinion. Fraenk had a long career as a hauler and wasn’t some admin stooge who’d never gotten his hands dirty. Durio and even Eptus would only go so far to get the information the ops teams needed. Carnen would take it further when the time came.
Standing at the desk, Eptus placed a datapad with his credentials in front of Fraenk. “I’m Security Supervisor Eptus, team leader for the Ministry of Security.”
Fraenk shrugged, not bothering to look. “This doesn’t mean anything. Can’t validate it without hub access.”
“This will have to do.” Eptus gave Fraenk a chance to read it. When he passed, Eptus lifted the datapad and placed it in a receptacle along the wall.
“What about him?” Fraenk said, nodding at Carnen.
“He’s a contractor serving in a confidential capacity. That is all I can say.”
Fraenk’s visage flickered between anger and fear. He narrowed his eyes at Carnen. “I know a spook when I see one. Let’s get this over with so I can go back to my bunk.”
Fraenk was sharper than Carnen thought. He further doubted Eptus could scare the ops supervisor into talking.
“How long this takes depends on how cooperative you are,” Eptus said. “We know you swapped containers in one of the berths on the C-4 arm and modified the logs to cover it up. We know your friends who you brought into your office asked you to track it down.“
Fraenk gave Eptus a challenging stare. “Show me the proof or stop wasting my time.”
The Sentinel team supervisor returned Fraenk's hardened gaze. “This concerns a vital security matter my team is investigating. I urge you to cooperate.”
“If you help us, I promise to do my best to lessen any punishment that may result from your actions,” Durio added with that air of elitism Carnen found admins tended to have.
Fraenk regarded his counterpart, then let out a deep, cynical laugh. “You’re so full of shit, Durio. You may be the senior ops supervisor, but that doesn’t mean you can boss me around like I’m some level-one tech. Unless you’re filing a formal complaint, you’d better drop this. I’m not saying anything else without a lawyer.”
“I’ll file a complaint if I have to,” Durio threatened.
“No, you won’t, because if you do, there’ll be a Commonwealth Commerce Department investigation per the stipulations in my contract. Which means, if I did supposedly swap the containers, they’ll want to know why, including what was in them.” Fraenk cocked his head at Durio. “Something tells me that you wouldn’t want them to find out.”
“So you admit to knowing what was in the container?” Eptus said, trying to regain control of the conversation.
“I admit nothing. If there are no more stupid questions, then I’m going back to my bunk.”
Carnen stepped away from the hatch to the side of the table, looming over Fraenk. “Let’s cut the shit, Fraenk. You swapped the containers and gave the singers to your hauler friends. We want the name of their ship.”
Durio made a face like he was stupefied that Carnen had said as much. But the chief supervisor failed to understand what was needed to get what they wanted from Fraenk.
At the demand, Fraenk arched his eyebrows innocently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Carnen repeated the question. Fraenk leaned forward, close enough for Carnen to smell his alcohol-tinged breath. “Oh, I remember now. It was something like Her Royal Majesty’s Go Fuck Yourself.”
Carnen drew his stunner.
Fraenk glanced at it, then back to Carnen. “If you think—“
The operative jabbed the stunner into Fraenk’s chest. The supervisor yelped and pushed back, almost tipping his chair as he cursed. Carnen had set it too low, enough to hurt like hell but not incapacitate.
Durio stood from his chair, a terrified expression on his face. “That was uncalled for!”
Fraenk slowly got to his feet, rising a full head above Carnen. “Why don’t you put your toy down and we’ll see how tough you are?” he sneered.
Carnen deactivated and locked the stunner then tossed it to Eptus. He was caught off guard and almost dropped it.
Over Durio’s protest, Fraenk raised his fists and stepped at Carnen.
The operative was ready for it and threw a kick into the side of Fraenk’s leading thigh, smacking the meaty part and dropping him to his knees. Carnen followed up with a punch to the Manore’s face. Fraenk toppled over backward, crashing to the deck. He groaned clutching his nose. Blood seeped between his fingers.
Carnen kicked Fraenk in the ribs, keeping him down. The operative then climbed onto Fraenk’s back and placed him in a chokehold. “I want the name of the ship.”
Fraenk cursed at Carnen, and he tightened his grip. Eptus shifted but kept quiet. Durio protested. “He’s a supervisor. You cannot do this!”
The operative ignored Durio and squeezed tighter. Fraenk pleaded, his voice barely audible. “Stardancer.”
Carnen let up a little and said to Durio, “Find that ship.”
The supervisor only mumbled an incoherent response.
“Kemp,” Carnen said, knowing she was watching.
Whatever she did appeared to work. Durio’s head twitched a bit, and his eyes regained focus. Carnen repeated the request. Durio said, “I have it. The freighter Stardancer was granted a commerce license a short while ago.” He projected the license to the wall display. “It’s scheduled to rendezvous with the ship Honest Day’s Work which is registered to a micro-corporation with a recovery agent license.”
“What’re they doing meeting with bounty hunters?” Stevson asked over their internal ship comm.
“According to the commerce license, the Honest Day’s Work will transfer a load of recovered assets.”
“I doubt Acculturation leadership is aboard the ship. What's so important for them to risk this transfer?” Carnen said.
“It could be more stolen material. We have no intel on this,” Eptus said.
“Plot it, Stevson,” Carnen said. He stood, leaving Fraenk in an exhausted heap on the deck.
The Tyrcellus map appeared on the table display. A curving intercept vector sliced through the system as Stevson plotted the ship’s course. “Assuming the Stardancer didn’t fuck around after they retrieved the singers, then they’re at minimum nine hours ahead of us. And assuming they head for a new destination immediately after the transfer, there’s a low chance we can intercept them.”
Carnen said to Durio, “What if we cancel the commerce license? Prevent the transfer?”
Fraenk cackled, having managed to push himself to a seated position. “Go ahead. That’s a Commonwealth-sponsored license. Canceling will raise a red flag at Sanctum and you’ll have Commerce Department goons up in your business.”
“He’s correct,” Durio said.
“Looks like you’re screwed,” Fraenk said. Everyone in the room turned in his direction. He gave them all a bloody smile.
Durio straightened with a fearful snap. “The Administrator is sending a comm request. Excuse me.” He scurried out of the compartment.
Fraenk shifted into his chair, groaning with each movement. Eptus opened a medkit mounted on the wall and passed a clotting wipe to him. Fraenk took it and held it to his nose.
“Show me the details on the Honest Day’s Work,” Carnen said. He stared at the data on the display, searching for a solution.
“My turn to offer you a deal,” Fraenk said. “As much as I want to beat you to a pulp, I’m willing to walk away from this. I want to keep my job, so you know I’ll keep my mouth shut. But if you don’t let me walk out of here right now, the next person the administrator will be talking to is me. If I’m going down, you’re all coming with me.”
Durio returned to the compartment, drawing everyone’s attention. His face was sunken like he’d seen a lost spirit come to terrorize him. Fear seeped into his voice as he spoke. “The administrator informed me that he spoke with Zellis, the owner of the theater. He is unable to contact the singers who performed at his venue and reported them missing. The administrator is very upset about this and wants the matter investigated immediately.”
“It wasn't me,” Fraenk said. He looked to his counterpart. Durio’s face somehow grew grimmer. “You had something to do with that, didn't you? Kidnapping citizens off Commonwealth-sponsored stations? That's bad news, Durio. not with the Commonwealth Diplomatic fleet heading this way. They won't take kindly to sentient rights violations. They're looking for any excuse to go after the Provenance.”
“No! I didn’t do anything wrong!” Durio said, voice cracking. He pointed at Eptus and Carnen. “They made me help them!” He bent at the waist, hands pressed to either side of his head. “I have to leave. I cannot be involved in this any longer.” He rushed to the hatch and slapped the panel, but Carnen had locked it already. Durio spun, coiled with indignation. “Let me out of here, immediately!”
“Kemp, he’s losing it. We can’t leave him here like this,” Carnen said into the inter-team comm.
“I’m working on it,” she answered.
“You’re running out of time.”
“You cannot leave yet, Supervisor,” Eptus said to Durio.
Fraenk grinned at the unfolding disaster. “You better let us go. Durio is screwed, but you spooks can save your asses.”
“Stevson, do we have departure clearance?” Carnen asked.
“Affirmative. It was granted before Supervisor Durio came aboard,” Stevson replied as the hatch opened. Carnen spun around as Durio stormed out. The Warden team leader glared at Eptus, who lowered his head in defeat.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Carnen growled.
“He is of noble lineage. We cannot detain him like this,” Eptus answered.
“Of course, you can. You have authority from the Imperatrix himself.” Carnen stormed into the passageway after Durio. The supervisor made it to the inner airlock hatch. Carnen re-engaged the lock over his PD. Durio slapped his hand repeatedly against the panel. “I demand that you open this hatch immediately!”
Eptus came up behind Carnen. “Let him go.”
Carnen ignored the Sentinel team supervisor. Over the ship comm, he said, “Last chance, Kemp.”
“I need more time to diagnose. Nothing I do works,” she answered.
“Supervisor Durio,” Carnen said in a measured voice. “I’ll open the hatch, but I need your help with one last thing with Fraenk. It will only take a minute, then I promise you’ll be done with us.”
The offer calmed Durio enough to end his fit. He faced Carnen. “One minute,” he said and marched back into the interrogation hold. Carnen followed him in.
“Let’s get this over with. I will not take the fall for whatever has happened here—“
“Wait—“ Eptus said as Carnen drew a palm-sized pistol and shot Durio in the back of the head at less than a meter. His head rocked forward as a bolt of superheated gas encased in an electromagnetic field punched through tissue and bone. The projectile dissipated upon impact, dumping its kinetic and thermal energy into the interior of the supervisor’s skull.
Durio toppled forward and slapped against the deck, mouth slightly agape, eyes lifeless.
The Sentinel team supervisor’s jaw clenched, his nasal slits quivering in rage. “You murdered a Pree of noble lineage!”
“Outside, now,” Carnen said and marched out of the compartment. Eptus followed. Behind Carnen, the rest of Sentinel and Warden teams entered the passageway from the main hold. Carnen faced Eptus. “I neutralized an asset gone haywire. Did you forget our mission?”
Eptus shifted as he wrestled with his emotions. The words came out with an angry bite. “To ensure the success of Project Fidelity in support of the Provenance.” He bristled. “You should’ve consulted with me before taking such drastic action.”
“I did what needed to be done. If you can’t handle that, then you should find another line of work.” Carnen faced Kemp. “Figure out what happened before this happens again.”
“I’ll investigate Supervisor Durio’s deviations,” she said with a bitter edge.
He stared at her a moment longer, then shifted his eyes to Stevson. “Set a course for the coordinates of the cargo exchange. We’ll dump the body en route.”
“The ships will be gone by the time we get there,” Eptus said.
“I’ll message the Honest Day’s Work. As Stevson said, they’re bounty hunters. Maybe we can work something out,” Carnen said and returned to the interrogation compartment.
Fraenk’s pale face eyed the dead body. With a resigned sigh, he said, “Guess I’m not going anywhere, am I?”
Caren pulled restraints from his belt and placed them on the table. “No, you’re not.”

Bitcoin's unique features, including its limited supply, immutable ledger, and high security, have made it a popular alternative to traditional fiat currencies and commodities.
Despite its popularity, many people remain skeptical about Bitcoin's long-term viability as a currency. One of the main criticisms of Bitcoin is its lack of adoption by mainstream businesses and consumers.
However, recent developments in the global financial system suggest that Bitcoin may be poised for wider adoption in the coming years.
The downfall of the banking system due to inflation and bank runs has been a recurring theme throughout history. Inflation erodes the value of traditional fiat currencies over time, while bank runs can lead to the collapse of entire financial institutions. As a result, many people are turning to alternative stores of value, including Bitcoin.
In addition to the threat of inflation and bank runs, heavy regulation by governments has also been a factor driving people towards Bitcoin. In some countries, governments have imposed strict controls on the flow of capital in and out of the country. This has made it difficult for people to transfer money internationally and has led to the closing down of FIAT on and off ramps via banks. Bitcoin offers a solution to these problems by allowing individuals to transfer value across borders without the need for traditional financial institutions.
While the regulatory environment for Bitcoin is still uncertain in many parts of the world, there are signs that governments are starting to take a more positive view of the technology. Look at El Salvador. They adopted Bitcoin as their currency. Recently President Nayib Bukele tweeted;
"Next week, I’ll be sending a bill to congress to eliminate all taxes (income, property, capital gains and import tariffs) on technology innovations, such as software programming, coding, apps and AI development; as well as computing and communications hardware manufacturing"
There are more examples like Lugano and CAR.
The downfall of the banking system due to inflation and bank runs, heavy regulation, and the closing down of FIAT on and off ramps via banks may seem like bad news for Bitcoin at first.
However, these developments may actually be bullish for the adoption of Bitcoin and the creation of a true circular economy. As more people turn to Bitcoin as a store of value and a means of transferring value across borders, the technology is likely to become more widely accepted and integrated into the global financial system. We don't need tradfi banks as much as we believe. Look at how mobile phones became a replacement for banks in Africa with MPESA. Now you can SMS Bitcoin in Africa with Machankura (@machankura8333)
We are at the precipice.
Be your own bank. Stay humble, Stack Sats.

Bitcoin's unique features, including its limited supply, immutable ledger, and high security, have made it a popular alternative to traditional fiat currencies and commodities.
Despite its popularity, many people remain skeptical about Bitcoin's long-term viability as a currency. One of the main criticisms of Bitcoin is its lack of adoption by mainstream businesses and consumers.
However, recent developments in the global financial system suggest that Bitcoin may be poised for wider adoption in the coming years.
The downfall of the banking system due to inflation and bank runs has been a recurring theme throughout history. Inflation erodes the value of traditional fiat currencies over time, while bank runs can lead to the collapse of entire financial institutions. As a result, many people are turning to alternative stores of value, including Bitcoin.
In addition to the threat of inflation and bank runs, heavy regulation by governments has also been a factor driving people towards Bitcoin. In some countries, governments have imposed strict controls on the flow of capital in and out of the country. This has made it difficult for people to transfer money internationally and has led to the closing down of FIAT on and off ramps via banks. Bitcoin offers a solution to these problems by allowing individuals to transfer value across borders without the need for traditional financial institutions.
While the regulatory environment for Bitcoin is still uncertain in many parts of the world, there are signs that governments are starting to take a more positive view of the technology. Look at El Salvador. They adopted Bitcoin as their currency. Recently President Nayib Bukele tweeted;
"Next week, I’ll be sending a bill to congress to eliminate all taxes (income, property, capital gains and import tariffs) on technology innovations, such as software programming, coding, apps and AI development; as well as computing and communications hardware manufacturing"
There are more examples like Lugano and CAR.
The downfall of the banking system due to inflation and bank runs, heavy regulation, and the closing down of FIAT on and off ramps via banks may seem like bad news for Bitcoin at first.
However, these developments may actually be bullish for the adoption of Bitcoin and the creation of a true circular economy. As more people turn to Bitcoin as a store of value and a means of transferring value across borders, the technology is likely to become more widely accepted and integrated into the global financial system. We don't need tradfi banks as much as we believe. Look at how mobile phones became a replacement for banks in Africa with MPESA. Now you can SMS Bitcoin in Africa with Machankura (@machankura8333)
​
We are at the precipice.
​
Be your own bank. Stay humble, Stack Sats.

Violence is on the rise in Chicago, and lawmakers are looking for ways to drive those numbers back down. One stat that has drawn attention in recent weeks is the city's number of carjackings. According to Chicago police, carjacking surged by 134 percent for 2020, bringing the total to 1,415. Rep. Marcus Evans Jr. (D), whose district covers Chicago's South Side, wants a sales ban to minors on violent video games like Grand Theft Auto. Evans is proposing an amendment to an existing 2012 law that prevents the sale of violent video games to minors. Illinois House Bill 3531 (HB3531) has been updated to add the following language:
Modifies the definition of "violent video game" to mean a video game that allows a user or player to control a character within the video game that is encouraged to perpetuate human-on-human violence in which the player kills or otherwise causes serious physical or psychological harm to another human or an animal...
Modifies the definition of "serious physical harm" to include psychological harm and child abuse, sexual abuse, animal abuse, domestic violence, violence against women, or motor vehicle theft with a driver or passenger present inside the vehicle when the theft begins.
The above-bolded text is pertinent to Grand Theft Auto, a widely popular game franchise that allows you to perform carjackings (among other violent and heinous acts). However, what's interesting is that games like Grand Theft Auto and its ilk have been around for decades; this is nothing new. A game like Grand Theft Auto alone couldn't possibly be responsible for the rise in the city's carjackings. Still, lawmakers and city officials are seemingly trying to tie the young ages of some of the carjacking suspects with the fact that the COVID-19 pandemic means that many children are at home, spending more time playing video games.
grand theft auto carjacking The youngest [recent] carjacking suspect was just 12 years old, and a 14-year-old was arrested in January for "taking part in multiple carjackings," according to Fox News.
"I feel like this game has become a huge issue in this spectrum," said Walker in an interview with the Chicago Sun-Times. "When you compare the two, you see harsh similarities as it relates to these carjackings."
As a counterpoint to the rumblings in Chicago, a decade-long study concluded that this is no credible link between kids playing violent video games and, in-turn exhibiting violent behavior.

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People have been going missing in my hometown ever since I moved back. And things don't really feel the way they did when I was a kid. I don't know if those two are related.
This has been really nagging at me lately. I had no idea where to post it to get some help or peace of mind. I just really need some support right now before I drive myself crazy over it. Maybe I'm overreacting because it's been a stressful few months since my parents died, or maybe someone can shed some light on the events that have been happening and show me that I am just being crazy...
I guess, I should probably start by introducing myself? My name is Jeremy Coleridge, as a kid I used to live in a very small coal mining town of about 7000 in a desolate area of the north called Calkirk. Picture every single midwestern small town Podunk you've driven to on your way to a bigger city, and you would be pretty close to what Calkirk looks like
I was there until I was about 17, when I decided to live with my aunt in New York, where I threw away a lot of money going into journalism which, if I have to be honest, was probably the worst decision of my life at the time. But, with my parent's kind of disowning me for not agreeing with their very strong religious devotions I kind of had no place to go. My aunt pushed me to attend college a year after I graduated high school because I really liked writing and investigation, so what better to study than investigative journalism right? Plus; she said I had to be in school if she was going to let me stay with her. Well, do you want to know how many investigative journalists are in New York?
The answer is: A lot.
So, a few grand down and four years of school wasted, I can’t get a job with that degree. I ended up living in a 2-bedroom apartment bunking with another dude while I work 50 hours a week between two part time jobs because that’s all anyone wanted to offer, and I was struggling. My aunt Clair moved back to Calkirk to take care of my mom who was diagnosed with some rare disease that she wouldn’t tell me about. Now, I’m 24, my mom passed away 3 months ago from whatever disease it was that she had gotten, my dad committed suicide the next day…
My aunt paid for me to fly back to Calkirk for the funeral and the Will reading. Being their only kid, I guess my parents willed me their small 3-bedroom one bath house in the town and with that, a small inheritance that basically would pay my student loans off and still leave me a few grand of left over money to put in savings. The life insurance my dad had from working at the Calkirk mine for almost 40 years paid everything off. I wouldn’t owe a cent on a single thing except my utilities and food.
I had to go back to New York for a few weeks to get my assets in order. I waited for my roommates to find some new, desperate fool to move in, sold my old buick, sent off the final check for my bank to cover my loan, flipped off one boss as I walked out of one job, and gave a respectable 2 weeks notice to the other, then I paid a company to pack up my small amount of crap I had and bought myself a plane ticket back to Calkirk.
Well, I say “to Calkirk” but as you may or may not know, a town of 7000 doesn’t usually have an airport so I had to fly into a city about two hours from there and get my aunt to agree to pick me up.
Two weeks living in the house, I got bored sitting in the place alone and decided to apply for a few jobs in town. I was able to score a job at the Calkirk Times. And being the only news outlet in Calkirk, business was actually booming. But when I asked my interviewer why the position was open, he said something that sort of freaked me out.
“Well, the last kid with your job stopped showing up a couple weeks ago…his house is empty, skipped town, no one can find him...”
I was basically hired on the spot, and I accepted immediately, call me desperate. But what my new boss said gave me a weird feeling… Everyone knew about everyone in this town. How could one of only three journalists go missing and nobody knows where he went?
When I met my new coworkers Abbigale and Tommy, they said the guy, Jim Remus, was an out-of-towner from Texas who came to live here with his girlfriend, a local girl we went to school with. They both went missing two weeks ago with no sign of them anywhere. Abby and Tommy, both thought it was way weirder than what our boss thought, he denied any articles even mentioning it. He even reprimanded Tom for asking another coworker about it, saying it was personal business and we shouldn’t be talking about it at work...
The second weird thing I experienced was a couple weeks after that, when I officially emptied my parents' pantry of all the nasty old people food they had. I decided it was probably time to go grocery shopping. I got home late on Friday night after writing a pointless article about news that had come out almost a week previously in bigger outlets, but people here ate up the content like it was breaking news so, who cares. I decided Saturday would be a better time to go grocery shopping.
Now, let me explain Calkirk a little better before the next piece of my story. Like I said, Calkirk is an old mining town in the Midwest part of the United States. I’m not saying where because I don’t want anyone trying to find it and something bad happening to them.
The town sits a few miles from the highway and has one main road with everything that’s not a house on it. Two gas stations, one on each side of town, two bars barely 3 blocks away from each other, the post office, the fire hall, the grocery store on one side, the K through 12 school on the other, then there are a few buildings with random business scattered between, a small vet clinic, a photo lab, a small coffee shop, stuff like that. The jail sat smack dab in the middle of town between the two bars. The town itself probably wouldn’t be visible from the highway if the factory wasn’t billowing out thick clouds of what I assumed to be coal ash and soot 24/7.
The factory was supplied by the Calkirk Mines and a tunnel delivery system had been made to transport coal to the factory from the mine about 15 miles away. The mine sat in a deep coolie with hundreds of trees around it, near a river, and a few long dirt trails in and out. the tunnel system was a long belt covered most of the way by piping. Inside, there's train cars that run almost constantly to the factory. With only small viewing ports for maintenance every so often. All of this knowledge was thanks to my dad working there for 40 years and a few take-your-child to workdays before he and my mom basically disowned me.
I should also mention before I get too far, since I came back here about 8 weeks ago, there have been three massive dustings, which the locals call “Ash events”. An Ash event in this town is when the factory spouts out way more of its black smoke than usual and the town gets covered in layers of black soot like material, it’s easily washed away with a hose and the fire department goes around each time and uses a low-pressure hose to rinse basically everything off. I remember these events from when I was a kid, but they never happened this frequently, at least not in my memory, or maybe it was washed off before I noticed.
It usually happened overnight and if you woke up too early, you'd have to wash off your own cars if you want to get anywhere. Part of the city ordinance was no one drives in town with their cars covered in the ash. It can be met with an almost $2000 fine. And, with the amount of police officers with not much to do all day, they were posted everywhere after a good dusting, so you’d be seen.
The first Ash event since being back home happened about two weeks after I got to town, two weeks before I got my new job. The second ash event two weeks after that got my dad's truck that I had parked outside so I could work on a dirt bike in the garage when I was bored. It happened the night I decided to go grocery shopping. The third one was just a week ago as I’m writing this...
Anyway, when I woke up, I could smell the ash in the air. It leaves this really heavy burning smell like someone burning ham bones with wool. It's hard to explain, but it's one of those smells you could remember from anywhere if you smelled it again. When I walked out, I already knew what I’d see, the dark dust caked on my dad's truck. I unraveled the hose in the front yard and sprayed the whole truck down before heading to the store to get there right when they opened. And yeah, I realize most people would look at this and say, that's weird, but for Calkirk, you kind of just grew up doing that. It's a generational habit, everyone did it.
In the store, I shopped for about two hours, packed a cart full of groceries and went to the registers to check out. Two older ladies were sitting at a small booth beside the windows sipping coffee. I recognized them as ladies that live in my neighborhood that would often have contact with my parents and I when I was a kid.
“Did you see Genie this morning?” I overheard one say, the other shook her head and made an exasperated face.
“I was just gonna ask you, haven't seen her at all!”
“That’s so unlike her…”
“Do you think…” There was a pause and the other shook her head.
I listened as they went back and forth saying how this lady always met them on Saturday mornings, every year for the past 25 years, she never missed a day.
I paid, I rolled my cart over to them and said, “I Uh, couldn’t help but overhear, you said your friend is missing?”
The women gave me a skeptical look then both suddenly perked in an almost robotic manner then one smiled, “Oh, little Jeremy Coleridge, you sweet little thing, when did you get back in town!”
I responded with “Like 2 months ago…”
“So sorry about your parents dear. Hope the town is treating you well.”
I nodded, but like a lot of crap in this town, their sudden change in attitude freaked me out.
I tried to divert the conversation back to the missing friend “So Genie…”
“Oh, I remember when you were just a tiny baby waddling over to my house for candies with your mom!” One spoke.
“Yeah, I did. But I want to ask about your friend…” I began again.
“Oh worse, as a kid he would follow my granddaughter for hours outside while they played.” The other said. She waved her hand at the other, “You two are about the same age, you should remember her, her name is Abbigale.”
“Oh and what about that time Marty found him playing in the mud puddle in the backyard.”
“Listen” I said abruptly over their talking. “I’m with the newspaper now. You said your friend is missing, have you gone to her house yet!? Have you checked on her at all?”
Their moods changed again, they frowned deeply, and went rigid for a minute as if they were really mad… Then they suddenly smiled again, big wide creepy smiles that really freaked me out.
“She’s fine Jeremy.” One said in a tight-lipped smile. “Just… resting…” her creepy smile widened, her lip twitched at the word ‘Resting’. Then, she shoo’ed me away with her hand without another word. My attempts to ask after were ignored as if I wasn’t even there.
feeling thoroughly unsettled, I left the store, packed my stuff in my truck, and drove it home. I put everything away and pulled out an old phone book my parents had in the house. The only Genie I knew was Genie Carlson. She worked at the school as a nurse for a long time before retiring. I found her number, dialed it, no answer. I dialed it again, same thing. On the third ring, the ringer was cut after 2 rings and flipped to voicemail, like someone had sent the phone to the answering machine. “This is Genie Carlson, Sorry I missed you… Please leave a-” but it cut itself off. The next call didn’t go through, I just got a “The number you dialed is no longer in service…”
Feeling thoroughly unsettled, I left the store, packed my stuff in my truck, and drove it home. I put everything away and pulled out an old phone book my parents had in the house. The only Genie I knew was Genie Carlson. She worked at the school as a nurse for a long time before retiring. I found her number, dialed it, no answer. I dialed it again, same thing. On the third call, the ringer was cut after 2 rings and flipped to voicemail, like someone had sent the phone to the answering machine. “This is Genie Carlson, Sorry I missed you… Please leave a-” but it cut itself off. The next call didn’t go through, I just got a “The number you dialed is no longer in service…” I thought it was odd that her phone would go off after I had just called it three times.
I, at least, remembered where Genie lived from my childhood and decided I’d pay her a small visit before going about the day just to make sure she was okay. I mean, maybe she was sick or something and just stuck in bed, or maybe she fell and needed help? Maybe she didn’t have a life alert, she for sure did not have a cell phone, and I think she was a widow, and all her kid's left town when they turned 18. So, if her friends hadn’t checked in on her she could have been lying there alone for lord knows how long needing help.
When I got to her house it was really dark, and quiet, the only way I knew it was still her house was the name inside the mailbox lid said “Carlson”. I knocked on the door, waited for a bit, but nothing happened.
“Ms. Genie! Ms. Genie! It’s me, Jeremy Coleridge! Jan and Cals son!” There was no answer. I looked in the little window in the door, but it was dark. I stepped to the side and looked into the front window and found an empty house. Her porch had signs that the Ash Event was never cleaned up properly, but the blanket of ash was disturbed by boot marks that weren’t my own. I tried the door handle, it opened, but almost like something pulled it open from the inside.
The house was completely empty, except for large boot marks made of the black ash from the porch leading into the entryway. And a few small blood splatters on the wall beside the stairs. It was eerily quiet; the house didn’t creak the way old houses were supposed to creak. There didn’t even seem to be wind around me. The whole area, inside Genie's house and outside, was just still and silent.
Before I took another step, I called the jail and asked if they could send a cop. I told them that it looked like something weird went down at Ms. Genie’s. They told me to wait outside and not touch anything. So, I turned right on my heel and planted myself on the step of the porch. I pulled out my phone to distract myself from the scene behind me. It didn’t keep my leg from shaking though…
Sheriff Nixon showed up about 10 minutes later. He was old, looked like a corpse himself, but he had been the Sheriff in town since before I could even remember. He was always super friendly and had a smile on his face, even now while responding to a potential disappearance.
“Little Jer Coleridge. My, my son, you’ve grown.” He patted my shoulder hard, almost threw me off balance.
“Hey Pat… I think something happened with Genie Carlson…” I pointed to the door, thinking he would be more surprised than what he was.
“Now, why would ya‘ think that, son?”
I told him I saw Ruth and Beth Anne at the grocery store saying they hadn’t seen her today. I even told him about them saying she was “Resting” and how they smiled the whole time, not acting like they were really bothered by it at all.
“Well, let’s just take a look here then. Wait out here.” He went inside with a flashlight, looked around for a few minutes then came back out. He clicked the lock behind him and shut the door.
“Well Jer, looks to me Genie moved out.”
“Without telling Ruth and Beth Anne?”
He nodded and his face suddenly smiled widely, the same way Ruth and Beth Anne had done at the grocery store earlier in the day when I kept pressing them to tell me about Genie. “Looks like it.”
“But the boot prints, and blood…”
“Probably a movin’ accident.”
I shook my head at him, trying to talk some reason into him. That didn’t make sense at all. “Pat… Genie is in her 80s. Why would she just leave without telling anyone? Genie has been going to the store every Saturday for 25 years, she hasn’t missed a single day, she wouldn’t just leave without…”
“Now son…” Pat grabbed onto my shoulder and squeezed hard, causing me to pause. He raised an eyebrow at me. “I think you’re reading too much into this. I bet Genie was needin’ a change of pace in her old age, didn't want to hurt herself with the goodbyes.”
“Pat, I don’t think she’d…”
His voice suddenly dropped into an angry tone “Son, I think you’re meddlin’ in people's personal business too much.” He titled his head closer to me. One of his eyes twitched at me, just like how Ruth's had at the grocery store. “Think you need to take your investigative head and go home, forget what you saw here.” He then smiled brightly as if he didn’t say anything and patted my shoulder again. “Nice seein’ ya Jer.” He walked back to his patrol car then tilted his hat at me “I’m sure I’ll be seein’ you around, son.”
I mean, Am I the crazy one? I seem to be the only one who cares that Genie Carlson is missing... Ruth and Beth Anne don't seem to be bothered, and it seems like Sherrif Nixon couldn't be bothered. And that's not even getting into the guy and his girlfriend who went missing a few weeks ago...
I think I am going to look into it and see if I can track Genie down at least, to make sure she is okay. I have resources at work that could maybe help me. So, I'm going to check those out when I take my next break. In the meantime, I have to get back to work, But I'll post an update if I find anything out.