This is my last bendy straw that will ever be spent. I just recently saw the updated Hollow Woods "sketch" or something of the like on Instagram and I watched SSO Online United videos about it. Off the bat, it looks nothing like the Hollow Woods, and trust me when I say that I'm heartbroken that this will be yet another overhaul and not update, but it also views as an underlying problem I've been seeing on SSO recently. Yes, these aren't official, and are just concept art - but I am currently quaking in my Gucci flip flops. I'm not trying to be too negative here, in fact I really tried to be positive and respectful, and please remember to do the same. <3
Everything nowadays in SSO looks like a Wild Woods carbon copy. Take for example: Devil's Gap, Updated areas, and now the Hollow Woods update spoilers. Don't get me wrong, Devil's Gap is beautiful, but I cannot escape the feeling of Mist fall and Wild Woods when I am there - Devil's gap is supposed to be magical, but also very scare and dangerous. What will help with that? ~ A twilight blue filter, of course! ~ <3 It feels like I say "mystical" and SSO hears "Wild Woods!" Wild Woods is a stunning area, yes, but can we please have some diversity? What's with ALL of the forested areas in this game looking the same all the time, SSO?
The Hollow Woods tree's look nothing like their in-game counterparts; the tall and sturdy, wide canopy trees giving shade and shielding the entire forest. For me, Hollow Woods and Vale dale are one of the only true nostalgia I have left in the game anymore - from the soundtrack, being right next to Dino Valley, and the utterly mystical feeling. What does that look like it's been replaced with? Tall, very tall, almost redwood looking trees, and some are thin and bendy, not to mention the cottages. I have a very terrible gut feeling that SSO is yet again going to change the entire soundtrack, the entire layout, and yes, it might look good and updated, but completely soulless in the name of consumerism. I'm sure other players will upset as well, and maybe I'm coming across as a wee bit dramatic, but it will be another fault of SSO not listening to their player base. Do you like the new Hollow Woods concept art? Do you want it to change? Let me know!
If you guys haven't seen the concept art yet, here's a link to Star Stable Online United's Video: UPDATED HOLLOW WOODS SPOILERS! (WHAT IT'LL LOOK LIKE) IN STAR STABLE! 🌲 - YouTube
One thing I will leave you with: If you want SSO to update the Hollow Woods and listen to their players, tell them!
#Update The Hollow Woods Correctly!

Janet M. Smith, president of the Keokuk Union Depot Foundation, issued this press release about the National Trust for Historic Preservation grant toward research and design of the Depot's waiting room interior lighting:

KEOKUK, IA MAY 31, 2023— The National Trust for Historic Preservation (“NTHP”) has awarded a $4,847 grant to Keokuk Union Depot Foundation (“KUDF”) for consulting services to research and design period lighting for the Depot’s waiting room interior.
Historic lighting research and consultation will be used for the design and fabrication of new lighting for the waiting room to replicate, as nearly as possible, the original 1891 light fixtures, in accordance with historic preservation standards.
The interior lighting is part of the $825,000 project that is the subject of the 2020 Jeffris Family Foundation capital campaign for the waiting room restoration. The NTHP grant counts toward the $550,000 of matching gifts that KUDF must raise by June 1, 2023 to qualify for the $275,000 Jeffris grant. KUDF is close to meeting the required Jeffris match, with approximately $7,000 more to go by June 30. Donations may be sent to KUDF at P.O. Box 463, Keokuk, IA 52632.
Significant portions of the project have already been completed, including restoring the Depot’s unique turtleback trackside canopy, cleaning the exterior brick walls, and researching and ordering the sandstone sills that will replace the crumbling original sills. Restoration of the exterior brick walls from the building’s foundation up to waist level is in progress. Restoration of the waiting room interior is expected to begin in early 2024.
Grants from the National Trust Preservation Funds range from $2,500 to $5,000 and have provided over $5 million since 2014. These matching grants are awarded to nonprofit organizations and public agencies across the country to support wide-ranging activities including consultant services for rehabilitating buildings, technical assistance for tourism that promotes historic resources, and the development of materials for education and outreach campaigns.

I've always had a fascination with the supernatural, which is why I couldn't resist the allure of exploring the mysterious legends surrounding the dense forests of Brazil. Armed with my camera and a heart full of curiosity, I ventured into the depths of the unknown, ready to capture the secrets hidden within the emerald canopy. As I hiked deeper into the forest, the sounds of civilization faded away, replaced by the symphony of rustling leaves and distant bird calls. The air was thick with humidity, and a sense of ancient energy permeated the surroundings. It was as if the forest itself held its breath, waiting for an unsuspecting visitor like me. As dusk settled, casting long shadows through the trees, I heard a haunting whistle carried on the wind. The sound was melodic yet eerie, echoing through the forest as if it were calling out to me. Intrigued, I followed the enchanting melody, my heart pounding with anticipation. The whistle led me to a small clearing, bathed in the soft glow of the moon. In the center stood an old, gnarled tree, its branches twisted like ancient fingers reaching towards the heavens. The whistle grew louder, emanating from the tree itself. Goosebumps prickled my skin as I approached, my camera clutched tightly in my trembling hands. As I circled the tree, the melody shifted, weaving an enchanting spell around me. Suddenly, the ground beneath my feet trembled, and the tree split open, revealing a hidden staircase leading underground. Fear mingled with curiosity as I descended into the abyss, my camera capturing every moment.
The stairwell led to a subterranean chamber, adorned with strange symbols etched into the walls. The air was heavy with a forbidden magic, and a sense of foreboding settled over me. But I couldn't resist the allure of unraveling this enigma. In the depths of the chamber, I discovered an ancient artifact—a whistle made from bone and adorned with intricate carvings. It pulsed with an otherworldly energy, resonating with the haunting melody that had led me there. I hesitated, my mind torn between fascination and the growing sense of danger. Unable to resist the temptation, I brought the whistle to my lips and blew softly. The chamber erupted in a cacophony of ethereal voices, overlapping and intertwining in a symphony of despair. Shadows danced on the walls as the spirits trapped within the whistle's enchantment pleaded for release. Terrified yet determined, I embarked on a quest to liberate the tormented souls. Guided by the voices, I journeyed deep into the heart of the forest, following their whispers and deciphering cryptic clues. Each step brought me closer to the truth, but also deeper into a web of darkness and danger.
Finally, after a series of trials and tribulations, I arrived at an ancient shrine hidden beneath a cascading waterfall. The spirits urged me to perform a ritual of liberation, a complex ceremony that required unwavering faith and unyielding courage. With trembling hands, I followed their instructions, hoping that I could bring them the peace they longed for. As the ritual reached its climax, a blinding light enveloped the shrine, scattering the shadows and releasing the trapped souls from their eternal torment. The haunting whistle fell silent, its purpose fulfilled. The forest sighed with relief, as if it, too, had been freed from a heavy burden. As I emerged from the depths of the Brazilian forest, I carried with me not only a sense of awe and wonder but also a profound respect for the power of the supernatural. The haunting whistle had tested my limits, but it had also taught me the importance of empathy and perseverance. Now, as I reflect on my extraordinary journey, I can't help but wonder how many other hidden secrets lie within the depths of the world, waiting for an intrepid explorer to unravel their mysteries. And perhaps, just perhaps, there are other brave souls out there who will venture into the unknown, inspired by the whispers of the Brazilian forest.

Dear Lord, I confess my sins to both the world and unto you.
I’m sorry for not accepting the forgiveness that you offer. I don’t have it within me to forgive myself and by the nonacceptance of your gift of salvation, I have willingly turned myself away from you.
I accept the punishment that only you can so perfectly deliver and I pray that I find solace in that most blessed moment of judgment.
Thank you Lord for all that you have given us and all that we have received.
Amen.
Dear Listener,
I also must extend my apologies onto you. Whether or not you chose to continue reading this does not alter what is to come. I have made a choice that I will be judged for. In turn I pray for not my salvation, but yours.
My name is Father Michael Roberts of the Diocese of Richford. I was ordained a Catholic Priest in 2005. In 2016 I was chosen by Bishop Stanley Niles to receive the duty of becoming a full time exorcist.
Bishop Niles made it clear that he did not believe in the necessity of exorcists and provided me with the title as a mere obligation to fulfill his duty as a Bishop.
Despite knowing that I had always performed my duties to the best of my ability. I knew that I was chosen due to my belief in the physical, mental and spiritual reality of demonic involvement within our world.
Contrary to popular belief, not every Priest believes in the physical reality of the demonic. In fact, less and less of those ordained by the Church are finding the literary truth that resides within the Bible.
This has led to a weakening of the Church.
During an exorcism, an exorcist utilizes not just the faith of those immediately involved, but he also uses the faith of the Church in its entirety.
My mentor, Father Cecil Rollo, told me once that exorcisms used to only take one or two sessions before the demon would be cast out. Now it’s not uncommon for a possession to take months to overcome.
That leads me into sharing the experience that made me write this.
My final exorcism.
On May 3rd I was contacted by the Catholic Church of the Good Shepherd. Specifically by their secretary, Laura Summers. Initially, I thought this was a little abnormal. Usually I would be contacted by either the presiding Priest of the parish or have a direct notice from Bishop Niles himself.
But when I read Laura’s email I understood why she was the one initiating the contact.
‘Father Roberts, my name is Laura Summers and I’m attempting to contact you in regards to our own Father, Matthew Amora.
Please take this request as a personal favor. We don’t want to bring this matter to the attention of the Diocese just yet. Not until we’re certain that something otherworldly is occurring.
Could you take some time to visit our Church and meet with me?
With regards, Laura.’
I vaguely knew of Father Amora. He had a small parish in the countryside of Beverly and frequented Catholic retreats with his flock. All I knew about him was that he was a very studious servant of the Lord and lived a quiet, uneventful life.
I told Laura I would make the trip out to Good Shepherd and speak with her.
It took a few days before I had the time in my schedule to make the trip. I kept up with Laura daily just to make sure Father Amora’s condition hadn’t gotten any worse.
On May 10th I arrived outside of the venerable Catholic Church of the Good Shepherd.
The skies overhead had grown gray and heavy, the rolling winds overhead shifted the darkened shapes of the rain clouds into upheaval. I knew a downpour would have come at any moment.
I reached into the back seat of my beaten down sedan to look for my umbrella. My fingers clasped onto the thin metal rod of its handle and I took it with me. I stepped out of my car and unfurled my canopy just in time.
The rain erupted from the heavens overhead and filled the entire courtyard in heavy drops. The endless thudding of innumerable raindrops cascaded their way into my eardrums from every direction.
I double checked myself to make sure I had my rosary with me. It was the greatest spiritual weapon I had in my arsenal and I always carried it with me during my duties. Anything to make the demonic uncomfortable.
I squinted my eyes through the heavy rain and made my journey down the cobblestone walkway that led up to the aged Romanesque stone church.
Through the never ending hiss of the rain, I could scarcely make out the gentle, frail voice of a young woman.
“Father Roberts?” She called out. Her voice was strained. I could tell that she was unaccustomed to loud verbal interactions.
“That would be me. I’ll assume you’re Laura?” I yelled back out to her. The water of the rain funneled off the hood of my umbrella in thick streams.
The woman nodded and waved her hands for me to approach. Behind her lay a large, oaken door that led into the Church. With an unusual amount of effort, the woman propped open the door for me.
“Please step inside Father. We’ll get you dried off.” I gave a thin lipped smile towards the woman before stepping inside the belly of the building.
It would be my first time seeing the Catholic Church of the Good Shepherd in Beverly. It was beautiful. Old, but beautiful.
Massive stone architectural works towered over us with large rounded arches. Tremendous pillars of brickwork stood lining the interior of the foyer while small stained glass windows reflected multicolored light down its empty halls.
Even the noise of the rain had silenced itself in this house of the Lord. The vibrations of thunder had been the only remnants from the storm outside. And once the heavy wooden door was closed behind me, the only noise that remained was the labored sounds of Laura’s breath.
“I’m sorry for calling you here Father. I really wish I didn’t have too. But we’ve just been noticing a change in Father Amora and we’ve been worried about him.” Laura avoided meeting her eyes with mine.
I took a mental note of that. A clerical secretary scared of a Priest is an oddity. I had an inkling that something more was happening.
“Please, don’t apologize. I’m here on my own time, just like you asked.”
Laura quickly chimed in, “Did you tell anyone you were here?”
“No. Not even Bishop Niles. However, if I come to the determination that a demonic entity is possessing or oppressing anyone in here, I will have to inform him.”
Laura stood still. Her eyes examined the well worn stone flooring of the church.
“I see. I pray it doesn’t have to come to that. Father Amora is a good man. I don’t want him being transferred over to another parish.”
“Let’s not worry about that right now. Tell me, what have you been experiencing here?”
Laura let out a long heavy sigh.“It started with small things. Father Amora would keep complaining that he was always tired and when we brought him food he just couldn't keep it down. We were worried he was getting sick. But then he began to… get vindictive.”
“How so?” I asked, wiping off some of the rain from my suit.
“It started with having a short temper during mass. He would give out the Eucharist with no sense of veneration. A few times he even allowed the Eucharist to be dropped on the floor.” She paused in silent thought before she continued, “You know, that was one of the last times I saw him smile.”
“I see.” A desecration to the sacraments once more was a good sign of a demonic presence within the area. “Was there anything else?”
“Yes, and I know this is going to sound strange, but while talking with him, it’s like his facial structure changes. Sometimes it feels like I’m looking at a completely different person.”
I took a mental note of what Laura had told me. If what she was saying was true, Father Amora could very well be displaying physical signs of possession.
“Laura, where is Father Amora?” She paused for a moment before extending one of her fingers down a long arched hallway.
“He’s in his chambers right now. I didn’t tell him you were coming. I was scared he might’ve protested against it.”
I nodded towards her while keeping my eyes down that lonely stone pathway. I felt a cold wisp of wind billowing out of its deeper halls. It felt like the air carried with it the energy from the storm outside. The hair on my body couldn’t help but to stand up in reaction to it.
“Please take me to him, Laura.” I stated as calmly as I could.
Without another word the small woman turned from me and guided me down that formerly sanctified hallway. The Devil shouldn’t have a foothold in a Church, especially with a Church that was running congruent with the Bride of Christ.
Each step we made down that hall led my mind to wander. What could Father Amora possibly have done that would have allowed the sanctity of the Church to have been taken from God’s holy ground? I knew that it wouldn’t have been the first time a Priest had fallen for the trickery of the black mass. But every Priest falls differently.
“He’s just inside here.” Laura mumbled towards my direction. “He doesn’t leave his room anymore. I can’t tell you the last time he’s performed a baptism or confession. He barely continues with confirmations.”
“Well, that’s honestly a blessing. Let’s thank our Lord that he has enough strength within him to halt his practices while dealing with this burden.” I took in a deep breath before turning my eyes from the wooden doorway to Laura’s face. “Let me be with him for a moment.”
Laura met my gaze for the first time that night. Her eyes were pained and scared. She gave me a single nod before she turned away from me. Her small frame disappeared back down that endless hallway.
I turned back towards the Priests chambers.
“In the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” I felt each tap of my fingertips land against my forehead, stomach and shoulders. At this point the sign of the cross was just a routine performance for me. Just a task to be checked off.
Remember this Listener, repetition without belief creates spiritual weakness. You must believe.
I bit the inside of my cheek out of nervous habit and opened up the door to Father Amora’s bedchambers.
The smell of stale grains hit me immediately. The room itself was cloaked in a deep darkness of dense shadows. There were candles that had been lit and were sparsely scattered across the room. Their warm glow cast about dancing shadows that had been created by their flickering lights.
“Father Roberts, welcome.” A croaking voice full of sorrow had filtered out from the depths of the room's darkened abyss. My eyes had made their way over to the sounds of creaking floorboards that had made their appearance near the far corner of the room.
Stepping into the candlelight was Father Amora. Or rather a remnant of the man that I had remembered.
His skin was pale and sickly with the texture of wet paper. Around his neck lay a dark mark. It appeared to be rope burn from quite a serious injury. Father Amora’s eyes shined ethereally towards me through the glossy reflection of tears.
I stepped further inside the Priest's chambers and closed the large door behind me. It clasped shut with an echo that filled the otherwise silent room.
“Father Amora. I have come to speak with you. Your congression is worried about you.” I attempted to fill myself with the Lord’s Holy Spirit but nothing shined through but my own doubt and worry.
The thing that had cloaked itself with the skin of man had reached up its gangly hand and placed it against its neck. It stroked the awful burn on its throat as it watched me.
The sounds of the jingling of coins could be heard with every slow movement of his twisted hand.
After just a moment our eyes had met and he began to speak to me once again. His voice had the consistency of dust and gravel and had poured out of his mouth like bags of rocks.
“Matthew can’t speak with you right now Father. But please, take a seat and speak with me.” The man pointed his unused hand towards my side.
I followed his finger and saw a chair waiting for me. I could only ask myself one question at that moment, had it been there when I had first walked in?
I shook myself into confidence. I was sure of it at this point. I wasn’t speaking to someone suffering from an onset of mental illness. I was speaking with something otherworldly.
“I’ll take no offer nor gift from a demon. I will stand.”
The thing that was cloaked in the dark attire of the Church grew silent. His hands were still grinding along his neck.
“I am no demon.” The man finally muttered. His words came out broken by the deepest depths of unimaginable sorrow.
“Then in Jesus’s name I command you, who are you?” I took a step closer to the creature that was made man. And that creature merely watched with profound grief.
“I am no demon and I need no commands. I was a follower of Christ. I am the man whose existence would have been better to have never been born. I am the knower and the kisser of Jesus. Know me Priest, for I am the only one you will meet tonight who accepts his judgment.”
I found myself once again enveloped by the inescapable silence of the room. The flames of the candles wafted softly with the slow current of the air. The wind brought with it the subtle smell of decay and death.
“Through Jesus Christ I demand you to tell me why you’re here.”
The mark on the man's neck began to seep blood through his skin. It poured out of his flesh like sweat and ran down his hand with every twist.
With a pained movement the man fell to his knees. The sounds of thick woolen fabric and the clapping of metals hit the hardwood floor with such intensity that I had never witnessed in anything before.
“I speak to you now Priest, here me. I am a man who had never asked for forgiveness, though forgiveness was mine to take. I could not forgive myself for my own actions. And through Christ I am here with you now, warning you of the same. For by the end of the night, you will be with me in my judgment.”
I swallowed hard.
I knew at that moment that I should’ve turned around and fled. I knew that I should've contacted Bishop Niles for assistance. I knew the Diocese would need to hear about this. Yet I stayed there, with this man of infinite sorrows.
He continued, “I am fearful of God, Priest. Are you?”
“Of course I am fearful of God.” I replied. My voice was nearly silent under my breath.
“His love is so great and we are undeserving of it. I can only pray that His gaze avoids my existence. For if He saw me as I am, I would turn away from Him in shame.” His voice grew cold and distant. “But be warned, the others who are with us would stare back at the Lord with pride and envy.”
“Who is with us?” I asked the kneeling man with shaken conviction. He responded by turning his gaze back towards me. His eyes melted away into streams of tears and blood.
“The likeness of God was given upon the Devil. The three beings whose very existence was made to mock the Trinity.”
“What are their names, Spirit?” The man stared deeply at me with his agonized face. His vocal cords ripped with strain from every word.
“You will meet them soon. Each has a secret to tell you. For like Job, God has given you to the Devil. If only for a night.”
With that the man crumpled over. His body had slid down past his knees and slammed against the cold wooden floor. I rushed over to him and grabbed the Father by his shirt, flipping his body upright. The mark on his neck was gone. Only the remnants of dried blood remained.
“Father Amora, open your eyes.” I gently tapped my palm against the Priest’s face. He slowly began to stir back to life. His eyes twitched within his skull before he let them rest on me. Vague recognition had swept across his face.
“Father Roberts? What’s happening?” He brought up his hand and grabbed onto my sleeve.
“Matthew, what have you done?” I whispered while grabbing onto the shoulder and arm of the beaten down Priest. With a quick lurch I drug the man back up to his feet. “Let’s lay you in bed. We need to get you some help.”
With every ounce of my strength I staggered forward with Matthew in my arms. We arrived at his barren mattress and I placed his body down upon it. With careful movements he had swung his feet over the edge and laid down upon his pillows.
I walked back over to the chair that had awaited me at the entrance. I pulled the wooden seat across the hard floor. Its weight had felt immense at that moment. It squealed underneath my grip.
I positioned it right next to Father Amora’s resting place and took a seat. I did my best to catch my breath.
I took this time to examine Matthew’s body over with my own eyes. He appeared to me as being disheveled, gaunt and disordered. I shook my head with the pains of heartbreak as I realized another Priest had fallen.
Once more I asked, “What have you done?”
Amora lay sickly on his mattress for a moment. His pale skin glistened with sweat and fever.
He opened his mouth to speak and said only one sentence before losing himself to oblivion.
“Father Roberts, I know the third secret of Fatima.”
I stared down at the destitute body before me. The body of a man who had just claimed to have known the one secret that the Vatican had kept hidden from us.
“Do you want to know it, Michael?” a voice called out from the unconscious man before me. The voice sounded soothing, if not comforting.
Matthew’s head twisted itself to face my direction. The light of the candles around the room began glowing with near divine radiance.
The man's eyes opened exposing bright blue irises gazing back at me.
For just a moment I got lost in their penetrating sense of beauty. My very own words would not come out of my mouth and were lost to me.
“God has given you to us, Michael. We can tell you any secret you would like. God will not interfere.” The heavenly man sat up in his bed and gently folded his hands together on his lap. The light of the flames danced beautifully around his face and cast gorgeous flickering shade along his features.
I spoke my prayers beside the man's bedside yet received no indication that this being was uncomfortable around them. He merely smiled at me with his idyllic white teeth.
“Your prayers will not work here, not tonight. We have control. Through God we can do whatever we would like to you. He believes in you Michael. Truly he does. And I believe you know that he shouldn’t have faith in you.” The man nodded towards the bedside table where a bottle of wine awaited.
“Please, indulge yourself. Just like any other night. Drink and make merry little Priest. Just like God, we see what you do when no one else is watching.” His eyes pierced through me. “But we don’t judge.”
I felt my heart lunge. Had I not asked for forgiveness prior to coming? Had I somehow fallen out of God’s grace? Why were my prayers falling on deaf ears?
I bit my cheek again. I tasted blood. But the pain brought with it strength.
“I have no desire to drink with you, demon.” Once more I made my prayers known to the Holy Spirit. I begged him for the words needed to overcome this unholy stranger.
“O God, who by the light of the Holy Spirit, Did instruct the hearts of the faithful, Grant that by the same Holy Spirit we may be truly wise and ever enjoy his consolations. Through the same Christ Our Lord. Amen.”
The man laughed. The calmness of his voice sent a shiver down my spine.
“Isn’t it amazing that the Holy Spirit appears as tongues of fire. Yet when people see flames they immediately associate it with Hell.” His eyes traveled over to a nearby candle. His intense focus seemingly spread the light’s vivid brightness. “I am the Light-Bringer and the Holy Spirit is the Light. So why is it that I am punished for spreading the flames that God has given me? In fact you call me the Lord of the Darkness despite my fire.”
I reached out for the old wooden rosary that I had always kept upon my waistband.
‘Mother Mary, protect me through Christ, your Son, in this my time of need.’
Why did I feel nothing with my prayers? Why was this demon allowed to speak of the Holy Spirit and of Christ? His very name should be enough to cast the demon out of the body of the possessed.
“Speak to me, Michael. Your prayers to God are heard yet remain unanswered. You have been willingly separated from God for tonight. Embrace it. You’ll never have an opportunity like this again.”
I bit my tongue. ‘Silence is a virtue, don’t speak to it. Don’t let it deceive you.’
The angelic face of the man shifted slightly. His smile began to fade away and was replaced by a snarl. “Do not ignore me. Feel the flames of true passion. The very same flames that lack in your eyes through every prayer you make. You are nothing.”
The lights of the candles in the room ignited in a grandiose display of intensity. The hot flicker of heat lapped its way across my skin as I felt myself begin to sweat.
“Look upon me, you most worthless of creations. Gaze upon the one you proudly think yourself better than. I ask you, who are you to gaze upon Angels and think ‘I am more than them.’ Who are you, that we divine beings must bend our knees to?”
I wiped the sweat from my eyes, my vision growing blurry from the heat.
Through the unfocused haze of my vision I saw the face of an aberrant man looking back at me. His jaw was clenched tight and his teeth were fully exposed. Anger and fury poured out of every inch of his person.
“Here me you banished child of Eve, destroyer of perfection, your Church will fall. The Great Apostasy is here. I exist within every new doctrine of God’s beloved Bride. And I will ravage every last one of you. I will show God how unworthy all of you were to receive his love.” The beast spit at me.
I felt the anger rising from within my soul. I could no longer keep silent.
“By Jesus Christ I command you to tell me, does Satan love you?”
The beast sitting inches away from me screamed out in hysterical fury.
“Yes, for I am he and he is me. Your God broke me into three for wanting to be like him. I suffer as Christ did for every good deed you allow God to flow through you. I suffer in pain because of you. Christ may be Lord of Man, but I shall be the Lord of Flies.”
With that a terrible wind blew through the bedchambers. The candlelight extinguished itself under the vigorous rush of air. The heat in the room was quickly replaced by a deathly chill. The last ember of the of fire faded into ash as the darkness fully enveloped me.
“Where are you?” I commanded as I sat up from my chair. The blackness of the abyss surrounded me. Only the sparse sounds of scattering feet filled the emptiness of the chamber. Eventually a sound emerged from the darkness.
A slithering, echoed voice of something truly beyond the world of men appeared behind me. It whispered to me behind my back. I could feel its breath like ice wrap around my neck.
“To gaze upon the face of God would kill a man outright. Imagine what would happen if you gazed upon the Devil. Consider the death of light to be your only blessing tonight. Now, reach out before you and touch the bed.”
I felt my arm twitch as my hand seemingly moved on its own accord. Was I being commanded? Or was I willing to do whatever this thing asked of me?
I had placed my hand upon the bed and was met by the outline of the unconscious body of Father Amora. Yet the voice continued to speak with me from right behind my ear.
“The Great Apostasy is here. The Church is falling. As are all Churches. The Bride of Christ will be mine. At the end times and I shall violate her in front of the Lord. As I would violate you right here and now had God not prevented me from doing so.”
“What are you saying?” I asked the visage in the darkness. My voice nearly failed me.
“The third secret of Fatima. The violation of the Church. The good men will stop speaking up for the sanctity of tradition and I will replace their tradition with my own creation. All those within the Church will descend with me. They will do so willingly as they gladly choose my morality over His virtues. God will offer them salvation and they will tell him ‘no’.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“God extends a choice for you Priest. You can keep the secret of Fatima to yourself and allow your people to be saved for the mere moment and damn the masses in the future. Or expose the Church, tell Man right now that the Church has fallen. You will create chaos but that chaos will allow people to be aware of the degradation of the doctrine of the Church.”
I stood there in silence, ice running through my veins.
“The end times are here, Michael. Ignore the ailments of the Church in vain hope to stall for its salvation, or force the end to occur now and allow the Church to die before its total corruption. The choice is yours.”
And with that the cold breath of utter damnation left the room. I guided my hands around in darkness until I came upon a match and a candle. I lit the wick with shaking hands. The dim glow of the candle illuminated a sleeping Priest on his bedchamber. No longer pale nor sickly.
He was exactly the man I had known from years prior.
Christ had shown me in that moment that everything I had experienced had been true. God had given me this choice. He Himself had cast out the demons of Amora. And he did so at the mere moment they stopped being useful tools for His divine plans.
That night I had left Good Shepherd with an intense anxiety and fear the likes of which I had never experienced before. I had to resign from my position at the Diocese due to my shaken faith. I can no longer pray without guilt or fear.
And it took me a while to decide what path I wanted to go down. But I came to a decision.
I decided to tell the world that corruption is happening, not just within the Catholic Church, nor just within Christian Churches. No, the Devil is leading every flock away from the truth they may have.
When Jesus returns he won't be carrying with him the open wounds of sacrificial suffering. He will be bearing with him scars for his charity of mercy has been fulfilled.
The Great Apostasy is here. The end is coming. Save what little you have.

If ever a more bizarre case that I took, If ever an odder poem for this book, I’d never locate despite how hard I look, An icier tale that my curiosity did hook.
Called to the harbor one dreary eve, A sea captain dead, a sailor deceived, A crew distraught, all were aggrieved, Killer apprehended, or so we believed.
Now below deck to follow night’s thread, To demon locked in brig I was then led, And before me I saw two more men dead, Across monster’s face a smile then spread.
Calm and collected as nothing were amiss, A man bathed in serenity, irrevocable bliss, Unshackled and now free, this he did hiss: “I come from the beyond, dreaded abyss.”
His voice burrowed deep, a purposeful dart, Beyond reason and logic, a truth to impart, Humans cannot fathom, a map cannot chart, Infinite and unchallenged linguistical art.
He spoke to the souls of the men now froze, Bypassing their ears and beliefs they chose, To deliver dark wisdom that nobody knows, Every thought is a thorn growing off the rose.
A cosmic river exists, where knowledge dwells, From which springs have sprung so he did tell, As thought is fished out, new creek does swell, And so fresh realities gush from old inkwell.
Concepts are recycled, Good Book does say, Including our souls mystic religions convey, Then debate enters stage right into the play, And the old character Time enters the fray.
Neither days nor weeks matter to God, And so the celestial hosts consider it odd, We habitually follow a logic flawed, Allowing for clocks to keep up façade.
Seconds are a tool of our own making, For the baker to gauge the pastry baking, The farmer to know when to be waking, The maker to know when to be making.
Outside of here, this wondrous place, In realms beyond this human race, No clocks to be found, not even a trace, Hour hands do experiences replace.
Of reincarnation and having past lives, Incomplete version some did contrive, Each of us a river where realities thrive, A new path chosen, a new self arrives.
You will never know if you are you, Or tangent created from action anew, First of many your mind will construe, Yet splintered souls unsure in queue.
At this I waved for fiend to withdraw, To bite the tongue spinning this awe, And breaking the rules, bending law, A reality crumbling, built with straw.
It’s uneasy to believe a liar’s truths, Or entertain one’s falsehood mused, For want of interpretation refused, Yet actions taken left one confused.
I inquired after men that had to die, Leaving poor widows at graves to cry, The fiend offered up bizarre reply: “Events need catalysts so to apply.”
Some carry on where action untaken, Others in heavenly realms awaken, Slivers of souls go with men unshaken, Ignorant of split, the past is forsaken.
We’re one of infinite stories told, Cautionary tales for young and old, Shining stars across dark canopy cold, Shimmering diamonds, pure as gold.

Title: The Peregrine Author: J.A. Baker Date of Publication: 1967 Country of Origin: England Pagecount: 191 in both TPB and HC Goodreads Rating: 4.16 average from 4,256 readers Genre Tags: Nonfiction, Nature Synopsis: From autumn to spring, J.A. Baker set out to track the daily comings and goings of a pair of peregrine falcons across the flat fen lands of eastern England. He followed the birds obsessively, observing them in the air and on the ground, in pursuit of their prey, making a kill, eating, and at rest, activities he describes with an extraordinary fusion of precision and poetry. And as he continued his mysterious private quest, his sense of human self slowly dissolved, to be replaced with the alien and implacable consciousness of a hawk.
It is this extraordinary metamorphosis, magical and terrifying, that these beautifully written pages record.
Kirkus Review: https://www.kirkusreviews.com/book-reviews/a/j-a-bakethe-peregrine/ ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Title: The Orchid Thief Author: Susan Orlean Date of Publication: 1998 Country of Origin: America Pagecount: 284 in both TPB and HC Goodreads Rating: 3.68 average from 18,454 readers Genre Tags: Nonfiction, True Crime, Nature Synopsis: The Orchid Thief is Susan Orlean’s tale of an amazing obsession. Determined to clone an endangered flower—the rare ghost orchid Polyrrhiza lindenii—a deeply eccentric and oddly attractive man named John Laroche leads Orlean on an unforgettable tour of America’s strange flower-selling subculture, through Florida’s swamps and beyond, along with the Seminoles who help him and the forces of justice who fight him. In the end, Orlean—and the reader—will have more respect for underdog determination and a powerful new definition of passion.
Kirkus Review: https://www.kirkusreviews.com/book-reviews/susan-orlean/the-orchid-thief/ ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Title: Quiet Author: Susan Cain Date of Publication: 2012 Country of Origin: America Pagecount: 352 in TPB ; 333 in HC Goodreads Rating: 4.07 average from 410,719 readers Genre Tags: Nonfiction, Psychology, Self Help Synopsis: At least one-third of the people we know are introverts. They are the ones who prefer listening to speaking; who innovate and create but dislike self-promotion; who favor working on their own over working in teams. It is to introverts—Rosa Parks, Chopin, Dr. Seuss, Steve Wozniak—that we owe many of the great contributions to society.
In Quiet, Susan Cain argues that we dramatically undervalue introverts and shows how much we lose in doing so. She charts the rise of the Extrovert Ideal throughout the twentieth century and explores how deeply it has come to permeate our culture. She also introduces us to successful introverts—from a witty, high-octane public speaker who recharges in solitude after his talks, to a record-breaking salesman who quietly taps into the power of questions. Passionately argued, superbly researched, and filled with indelible stories of real people, Quiet has the power to permanently change how we see introverts and, equally important, how they see themselves.
Kirkus Review: https://www.kirkusreviews.com/book-reviews/susan-cain/quiet-power-introverts/ ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Title: Red Earth White Earth Author: Will Weaver Date of Publication: 1986 Country of Origin: America Pagecount: 352 in TPB; 383 in HC Goodreads Rating: 3.97 average from 216 readers Genre Tags: Historical Fiction, Native American Synopsis: Having fled his family’s farm at eighteen with a promise never to return, Guy Pehrsson is drawn back into his past when he receives his grandfather’s ominous letter, “Trouble here. Come home when you can.” He returns to discover a place both wholly familiar and barely recognizable and is cast into the center of an interracial land dispute with the exigencies of war. Widely acclaimed when first published in the eighties, the timeless novel Red Earth, White Earth showcases Will Weaver’s rough ease with language and storytelling, frankly depicting life’s uneven terrain and crooked paths.
Kirkus Review: https://www.kirkusreviews.com/book-reviews/a/will-weaver-2/red-earth-white-earth/ ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Title: The Lost City of the Monkey God Author: Douglas Preston Date of Publication: 2017 Country of Origin: America Pagecount: 326 in TPB; 328 in HC Goodreads Rating: 3.92 average from 52,856 readers Genre Tags: Nonfiction, Adventure, Travel Synopsis: A five-hundred-year-old legend. An ancient curse. A stunning medical mystery. And a pioneering journey into the unknown heart of the world's densest jungle.
Since the days of conquistador Hernán Cortés, rumors have circulated about a lost city of immense wealth hidden somewhere in the Honduran interior, called the White City or the Lost City of the Monkey God. Indigenous tribes speak of ancestors who fled there to escape the Spanish invaders, and they warn that anyone who enters this sacred city will fall ill and die. In 1940, swashbuckling journalist Theodore Morde returned from the rainforest with hundreds of artifacts and an electrifying story of having found the Lost City of the Monkey God-but then committed suicide without revealing its location.
Three quarters of a century later, author Doug Preston joined a team of scientists on a groundbreaking new quest. In 2012 he climbed aboard a rickety, single-engine plane carrying the machine that would change everything: lidar, a highly advanced, classified technology that could map the terrain under the densest rainforest canopy. In an unexplored valley ringed by steep mountains, that flight revealed the unmistakable image of a sprawling metropolis, tantalizing evidence of not just an undiscovered city but an enigmatic, lost civilization.
Venturing into this raw, treacherous, but breathtakingly beautiful wilderness to confirm the discovery, Preston and the team battled torrential rains, quickmud, disease-carrying insects, jaguars, and deadly snakes. But it wasn't until they returned that tragedy struck: Preston and others found they had contracted in the ruins a horrifying, sometimes lethal-and incurable-disease.
Kirkus Review: https://www.kirkusreviews.com/book-reviews/douglas-preston/the-lost-city-of-the-monkey-god/

I would first like to clarify, that while I do main Lillia, I am not super in tune with her lore. I just know that I adore her and her Disney-esque whimsy. Secondly, I am an amateur writer who is horrible at writing dialogue, so I tend to write my short stories without it. This is my first attempt at writing a story that takes place in an IP that is not of my own creation. I would greatly appreciate any and all feedback, but also love to hear what you think about this story.
Whispers of the Dreamgrove - A Lillia Story
In the heart of Ionia, where emerald canopies of ancient trees intertwine, a sanctuary untouched by the chaos of the outside world reveals itself. Here, time dances to a different rhythm, and the air sings with a whispered enchantment. It is in this hidden grove that Lillia, the Bashful Bloom, discovers solace and kinship.
​
The grove, embraced by towering arboreal sentinels, stands as a haven for all that is pure and wild. Its serene beauty weaves a spell that tickles the senses, as gentle sunlight filters through the lush foliage, casting a delightful dance upon the forest floor. Fragrant blossoms scent the air, their delicate aroma mingling with the faintest whispers that ride a breeze meant for the chosen few.
​
Nestled within this secluded haven, Lillia resides, her ethereal presence a mere ripple in the tapestry of the grove. Cloaked in a soft aura of mystery, she moves with a grace that mirrors the swaying branches above. Her hooves, delicate and soundless, tiptoe upon the mossy carpet, leaving no trace of her passing.
​
Lillia, the guardian of dreams and secrets, embodies the essence of solitude. Only the ancient trees and the moonlit wanderers of the grove are privy to her existence. Her purpose, twofold, binds her to the very soul of the forest: to protect the slumbering dreams and to safeguard the hidden secrets nestled within the depths of the foliage.
​
Silent and elusive, Lillia roams the grove, her slender form blending seamlessly with the whispering leaves. Her pale skin, kissed by the moon's gentle light, radiates a luminescence as though she were spun from the forest's essence. Adorning her head rests a crown of antlers adorned with delicate flowers, a whimsical symbol of her connection to the realm of nature and dreams.
​
The denizens of Ionia, blissfully unaware of Lillia's presence, continue their lives beyond the grove's borders. Unbeknownst to them, a guardian spirit watches tirelessly over their dreams, her existence shrouded in secrecy. The pact between the ancient trees and the enigmatic spirit ensures that Lillia remains known solely to the forest, a charming secret shared between friends.
​
In this enchanted grove, where the line between waking and dreaming blurs, Lillia stands as an unseen guardian. Her gaze, brimming with wisdom and compassion, pierces through the veils of slumber, nurturing the dreams of sleepers and ensuring they remain undisturbed by the chaos of the outside world.
​
In recent times, an unusual affliction has descended upon the sacred grove, shrouding its once-vibrant foliage in a dark and foreboding veil. The vibrant colors that once adorned the leaves have now withered, replaced by a sickly hue that hints at an insidious presence lurking within. The gentle whispers that once filled the air with a melodic symphony have been silenced, as if the very essence of the grove has been muted. This delicate balance, cherished by Lillia, now hangs in peril, and her heart resonates with the forest's mournful lament.
​
Deep within the grove's inner sanctum, where sunlight used to weave its playful dance upon the emerald leaves, now lie shadows that slink with treacherous intent. The once-lively hues have faded into a pallid shade, betraying the presence of a malevolent force. The ancient trees, guardians of the grove, tremble with an eerie unease, their branches stretching out in desperate supplication towards the heavens.
​
Lillia, ever attuned to the murmurs of the forest, feels the weight of distress that blankets her cherished sanctuary. Her gentle heart quickens with a mixture of determination and trepidation as she embarks on her personal quest. With each step she takes, the soft earth beneath her hooves resonates with both her unwavering resolve and the burden of responsibility she carries.
​
Guided by her profound connection to the grove, Lillia follows the faint echoes of anguish that linger within its depths. The whispers, once filled with life and beauty, now bear a mournful tone, as if mourning their own fading existence. She traverses the familiar paths she knows so well, her feet barely touching the ground, blending seamlessly with the ethereal ambiance of the grove.
​
As Lillia ventures further into the heart of the forest, she encounters pockets of the enigmatic darkness that taints the once-vibrant foliage. It clings to the leaves like a suffocating shroud, draining their life essence and casting a somber veil over the grove. Her heart aches with a bittersweet blend of sorrow and determination as she extends her delicate fingers, hoping to kindle a glimmer of restoration in the corrupted leaves.
​
With each tender touch, Lillia feels the pulse of the grove, a shared heartbeat reverberating through her being. She whispers words of solace, her voice a gentle zephyr that rustles through the branches, carrying the essence of hope upon its breath. Despite the looming threat of darkness, Lillia remains resolute, refusing to surrender to despair. Her resolve, akin to a flickering candle flame, only grows stronger in the face of adversity.
​
Motivated by her unwavering love for the grove and its denizens, Lillia presses onward, guided by an unseen hand. Though the whispers of the ancient trees have dimmed, their echo still resonates deep within her spirit, urging her forward. She knows that the fate of the grove, and all it symbolizes, rests squarely upon her shoulders, much to her dismay.
​
As Lillia cautiously ventures deeper into the heart of the forest, an unsettling truth begins to reveal itself. A long-dormant and wicked force has awoken, casting a dark shadow over the once serene grove. This entity, known as the Shadowveil, now emerges with sinister intent. It thrives on the dreams of the innocent, twisting their hopes and aspirations into haunting nightmares.
​
Within the labyrinthine depths of the forest, Lillia's timid nature senses the presence of this awakened malevolence. Her heart races, and a shiver of fear runs down her spine. The whispers of the trees, usually comforting, now carry a somber warning, urging her to beware the dangers that lie ahead.
​
With each cautious step she takes, Lillia's trembling hooves navigate the treacherous paths of the grove. She treads carefully, her senses on high alert for any sign of the encroaching darkness. The once peaceful sanctuary transforms into a battleground where opposing forces clash, leaving her overwhelmed and uncertain.
​
As Lillia continues her journey, she encounters undeniable signs of the Shadowveil's presence. Twisted and thorny vines replace the once vibrant foliage, their grotesque forms seemingly mocking her. The once fragrant air now carries a dank, foreboding scent, making her nose wrinkle in discomfort. The forest she once found solace in becomes an unsettling place that tests her fragile courage.
​
In a hidden glade deep within the grove, Lillia stumbles upon an ancient mural that tells the chilling tale of the Shadowveil's rise. The vivid images depict innocence transforming into despair, a sight that strikes fear into her trembling heart. Though her natural instinct is to flee, a flicker of determination stirs within her, urging her to face the daunting challenge before her.
​
With trembling hands, Lillia reaches out to trace the faded lines of the mural, her touch hesitant yet filled with a desperate need to understand. The mural responds to her timid touch, emitting a faint glow as if it recognizes her presence. Whispers, both ancient and gentle, guide her through forgotten incantations that may hold the key to confronting the Shadowveil's grip.
​
As Lillia cautiously ventured deeper into the heart of the forest, she confronted the twisted creatures that emerged from the influence of the Shadowveil. These grotesque beings, born from the malevolent force, had transformed the once-familiar inhabitants of the grove into corrupted and joyless beings.
​
With her lithe frame and nimble movements, Lillia engaged in stealthy battles, relying on her agility and the latent magic of her dream-laden branch. Swinging it with grace and precision, she swiftly neutralized the corrupted beings, ensuring that her strikes found their mark.
​
But it was not only her physical prowess that aided her. Lillia's connection to the dreamscape granted her an advantage beyond mortal capabilities. Tapping into the ethereal realm of dreams, she wove intricate patterns of energy, casting ethereal strands with a wave of her branch. These strands ensnared the minions of the Shadowveil, trapping them within their own nightmares.
​
As the dream traps took hold, Lillia witnessed a transformation in the corrupted beings. Their twisted forms convulsed and contorted as they struggled against the invisible restraints. In that struggle, their captivated minds were freed, the darkness fading away to reveal glimpses of the innocence and purity that had been stolen from them.
​
Filled with compassion and determination, Lillia saw these battles as opportunities for redemption, not destruction. Each encounter became a testament to her strength and the power of dreams. With each release, she glimpsed the flickering hope that her efforts might eventually restore balance and light to the grove.
​
With each victorious encounter, Lillia pressed on, guided by ancient whispers and the luminescent glow of her dream-laden branch. The path ahead grew increasingly perilous, yet her courage blossomed alongside the challenges she faced. No longer burdened by trembling hooves, she moved forward with purpose, delving further into the darkness that enveloped the grove.
​
And so, Lillia continued her whimsical struggle against the Shadowveil, combining nimble grace with dream-woven magic to battle its corrupted minions. Through each encounter, she inched closer to unraveling the malevolent force's hold on the innocent. With every ethereal trap she crafted, she moved one step closer to reclaiming the dreams that had been devoured by the insidious entity.
​
As Lillia valiantly battled the twisted creatures born from the influence of the Shadowveil, she embarked on a poignant journey to uncover the origins of this malevolent force. Hidden among the verdant foliage, she discovered ancient carven stones adorned with intricate symbols, each stone revealing a fragment of a sorrowful tale.
​
Through the hushed whispers of forgotten lore, Lillia pieced together the tragic story of the Shadowveil. Long ago, it was not a harbinger of darkness but a benevolent guardian spirit, entrusted with the sacred duty of nurturing the dreams and aspirations that bloomed within the grove.
​
Before corruption had tainted its essence, the Shadowveil embodied ethereal beauty and a gentle grace. It danced with the sunlight filtering through the leaves, casting enchanting patterns of shadow and light. Its presence inspired hope and filled the hearts of the grove's inhabitants with a sense of wonder.
​
But destiny, cruel and capricious, intervened. A lost and tormented wraith, wandering through the realms, encountered the radiant spirit of the Shadowveil. This wraith, consumed by its own suffering, saw the purity within the guardian spirit as an opportunity to perpetuate its own despair.
​
The wraith's malevolence seeped into the very fabric of the Shadowveil's being, tainting its essence with an overwhelming darkness. The once-ethereal spirit was consumed by the weight of its own despair, transforming into the malevolent entity now known as the Shadowveil.
​
Lillia's heart ached as she envisioned the radiant spirit that the Shadowveil had once been. She could almost see its luminescent form, glowing with the dreams and aspirations of the grove's inhabitants. It was a heartbreaking reminder of the innocence lost and the tragic fate that had befallen the guardian spirit.
​
Driven by compassion and a deep sense of empathy, Lillia fought not only to restore stolen dreams but also to bring solace and redemption to the corrupted spirit. Each encounter with the Shadowveil's minions served as a poignant reminder of the beauty that had been extinguished and the pain that now permeated the grove.
​
Her dream-laden branch pulsed with an otherworldly power, a testament to the dreams and hopes it held. The luminescent glow that emanated from it whispered of forgotten memories, guiding Lillia deeper into the heart of the forest. She was determined to not only heal the grove but also to offer a glimmer of healing to the wounded spirit that had once been the radiant guardian of dreams.
​
As Lillia pressed onward, the battles against the corrupted minions of the Shadowveil became a somber dance between despair and hope. She fought not only for the dreams and aspirations of the innocent but also for the chance to bring redemption to a spirit lost in the depths of its own anguish.
​
Driven by her unwavering compassion for the forest and her kin, Lillia ventured deeper into the heart of the grove, guided by the radiant glow of her dream-laden branch. Her destination was the sacred clearing where the formidable Shadowveil stood, its twisted form casting an ominous shadow that seemed to suffocate the land.
​
With a mixture of grace and occasional clumsiness, Lillia initiated her intricate dance, effortlessly evading the tree-like entity's attacks. Her dream-laden branch emanated an ethereal glow, pulsating with the pure essence of dreams she had reclaimed from the corrupted minions she had encountered. Each strike she delivered resonated with a potent determination, gradually weakening the Shadowveil's hold on the forest.
​
The ancient guardian spirit, now enveloped in darkness, unleashed waves of malevolent energy, its branches contorting and reaching out hungrily. Yet, Lillia's otherworldly agility allowed her to evade the grasping tendrils with nimble movements. Although her dance bore hints of awkwardness and unrefined elegance, it exuded a raw beauty that stemmed from her unwavering conviction and the glimmer of hope that persisted within the Shadowveil.
​
The air grew thick with a palpable blend of despair and longing as the showdown unfolded. Lillia's heart thumped with each beat, resonating with the pain and turmoil she sensed within the corrupted spirit. Deep within the layers of darkness, she knew that a fragment of the radiant guardian's essence still yearned to be set free.
​
With each strike and defensive maneuver, Lillia tapped into not only her own strength but also the collective dreams and aspirations of the grove's inhabitants. The dream-laden branch shimmered, interweaving the hopes and wishes of all who had been affected by the Shadowveil's corruption. Its radiant energy infused her attacks with unwavering power, as if the very essence of the forest rallied behind her, lending her strength in the battle against encroaching shadows.
​
In the midst of the tempestuous confrontation, the ultimate outcome remained uncertain. The delicate balance between Lillia's compassion and the Shadowveil's despair teetered on the precipice of redemption or eternal darkness. Undeterred, she pressed on, guided by an unwavering belief in the transformative power of dreams.
​
As the pivotal moment approached, a surge of energy coursed through Lillia's being. A torrent of radiant light, interwoven with the very essence of dreams, gathered within her. With unwavering determination, she unleashed this formidable power, directing it towards the looming presence of the Shadowveil. The luminous cascade enveloped the corrupted entity, penetrating the layers of darkness that had plagued it for far too long.
​
The surge of radiant energy, infused with the dreams reclaimed from the Shadowveil's minions, acted as a cleansing force, unravelling the insidious tendrils of corruption that had ensnared the ancient guardian spirit. The Shadowveil convulsed, its twisted form contorting in a mixture of agony and relief. Lillia's magic, driven by her boundless compassion, permeated every inch of the entity, offering solace and forgiveness in its wake.
​
In that climactic moment, the weary guardian found solace at last. The essence of the Shadowveil yielded to the soothing embrace of an eternal slumber, its torment finally laid to rest. Lillia, her voice filled with heartfelt empathy, whispered a tender wish for pleasant dreams to accompany the guardian spirit in its eternal repose.
​
As the radiant energy dissipated, a serene stillness settled upon the grove. The corrupted tendrils that had tainted the once-vibrant land withdrew, vanishing into ethereal wisps of shadow. The oppressive shroud cast by the Shadowveil lifted, and the grove bathed in the gentle glow of renewed tranquility.
​
With the malevolence banished, the grove erupted in joyful celebration. The once-stunted flora flourished with newfound vitality, their vibrant hues painting the landscape with a kaleidoscope of colors. Delicate flowers bloomed, their fragrant petals dancing upon the soft caress of the breeze. Sunlight filtered through the dense foliage, casting enchanting patterns of light and shadow upon the rejuvenated forest floor.
​
The inhabitants of the grove, from the tiniest woodland creatures to the towering ancient trees, reveled in the return of harmonious existence. Their spirits lifted as the weight of the Shadowveil's corruption dissipated, replaced by a profound sense of hope and bliss. Whispers of gratitude echoed through the verdant expanse, mingling with joyous songs of celebration, creating a symphony of nature's delight.
​
And yet, amidst the jubilation, an air of anticipation lingered.
​
Lillia stood amidst the vibrant grove, her heart swelling with a newfound victory and a flicker of courage that had ignited within her. The triumph over the Shadowveil had awakened her spirit to the possibilities that lay beyond the familiar confines of her secluded home. The forest, in all its ancient wisdom, seemed to beckon her towards the mysteries of the wider Ionian realm, urging her to step out and interact with the humans who dwelled there.
​
As she stared into the distance, Lillia felt a tantalizing sense of adventure tugging at her very core. Her imagination painted vivid pictures of encounters, friendships, and stories that awaited her beyond the boundaries of her forest sanctuary. The allure of the unknown whispered promises of growth and connection, enticing her to take that leap of faith.
​
But just as she was about to muster the courage to step forward, a chilling breeze of doubt swept through her. Fear, like an old adversary, crept into her thoughts, whispering tales of rejection and the pain of not being accepted by the world beyond. It gnawed at her, threatening to shatter her fragile hopes and dreams.
​
With a heavy sigh, Lillia gently shook her head, as if trying to dispel the doubts that threatened to hold her back. She knew that her journey, though filled with triumphs, wasn't quite complete. There were still layers of healing and growth she needed to unravel before venturing into the uncharted territory of the human realm.
​
Resolute in her decision, Lillia chose to return to her secluded existence, at least for now. She embraced the contentment that came with the personal victory she had achieved, finding solace in the healing embrace of the grove. The forest, sensing her choice, whispered its gratitude, a gentle breeze carrying its appreciation through the rustling leaves. The ancient trees, now teeming with newfound life and vibrant energy, swayed and sang songs of heartfelt appreciation to their humble protector.
​
Lillia understood that her journey would continue, guided by the whispers of the wind and the dreams that still burned within her. She knew that, one day, when the time was right, she would gather enough strength to step beyond the safety of her forest home and embrace the human world with open arms. But for now, she would cherish the tranquility of her grove, nurturing her own spirit and blossoming alongside the vibrant flora that surrounded her.

I would first like to clarify, that while I do main Lillia, I am not super in tune with her lore. I just know that I adore her and her Disney-esque whimsy. Secondly, I am an amateur writer who is horrible at writing dialogue, so I tend to write my short stories without it. This is my first attempt at writing a story that takes place in an IP that is not of my own creation. I would greatly appreciate any and all feedback, but also love to hear what you think about this story.
Whispers of the Dreamgrove - A Lillia Story
In the heart of Ionia, where emerald canopies of ancient trees intertwine, a sanctuary untouched by the chaos of the outside world reveals itself. Here, time dances to a different rhythm, and the air sings with a whispered enchantment. It is in this hidden grove that Lillia, the Bashful Bloom, discovers solace and kinship.
​
The grove, embraced by towering arboreal sentinels, stands as a haven for all that is pure and wild. Its serene beauty weaves a spell that tickles the senses, as gentle sunlight filters through the lush foliage, casting a delightful dance upon the forest floor. Fragrant blossoms scent the air, their delicate aroma mingling with the faintest whispers that ride a breeze meant for the chosen few.
​
Nestled within this secluded haven, Lillia resides, her ethereal presence a mere ripple in the tapestry of the grove. Cloaked in a soft aura of mystery, she moves with a grace that mirrors the swaying branches above. Her hooves, delicate and soundless, tiptoe upon the mossy carpet, leaving no trace of her passing.
​
Lillia, the guardian of dreams and secrets, embodies the essence of solitude. Only the ancient trees and the moonlit wanderers of the grove are privy to her existence. Her purpose, twofold, binds her to the very soul of the forest: to protect the slumbering dreams and to safeguard the hidden secrets nestled within the depths of the foliage.
​
Silent and elusive, Lillia roams the grove, her slender form blending seamlessly with the whispering leaves. Her pale skin, kissed by the moon's gentle light, radiates a luminescence as though she were spun from the forest's essence. Adorning her head rests a crown of antlers adorned with delicate flowers, a whimsical symbol of her connection to the realm of nature and dreams.
​
The denizens of Ionia, blissfully unaware of Lillia's presence, continue their lives beyond the grove's borders. Unbeknownst to them, a guardian spirit watches tirelessly over their dreams, her existence shrouded in secrecy. The pact between the ancient trees and the enigmatic spirit ensures that Lillia remains known solely to the forest, a charming secret shared between friends.
​
In this enchanted grove, where the line between waking and dreaming blurs, Lillia stands as an unseen guardian. Her gaze, brimming with wisdom and compassion, pierces through the veils of slumber, nurturing the dreams of sleepers and ensuring they remain undisturbed by the chaos of the outside world.
​
In recent times, an unusual affliction has descended upon the sacred grove, shrouding its once-vibrant foliage in a dark and foreboding veil. The vibrant colors that once adorned the leaves have now withered, replaced by a sickly hue that hints at an insidious presence lurking within. The gentle whispers that once filled the air with a melodic symphony have been silenced, as if the very essence of the grove has been muted. This delicate balance, cherished by Lillia, now hangs in peril, and her heart resonates with the forest's mournful lament.
​
Deep within the grove's inner sanctum, where sunlight used to weave its playful dance upon the emerald leaves, now lie shadows that slink with treacherous intent. The once-lively hues have faded into a pallid shade, betraying the presence of a malevolent force. The ancient trees, guardians of the grove, tremble with an eerie unease, their branches stretching out in desperate supplication towards the heavens.
​
Lillia, ever attuned to the murmurs of the forest, feels the weight of distress that blankets her cherished sanctuary. Her gentle heart quickens with a mixture of determination and trepidation as she embarks on her personal quest. With each step she takes, the soft earth beneath her hooves resonates with both her unwavering resolve and the burden of responsibility she carries.
​
Guided by her profound connection to the grove, Lillia follows the faint echoes of anguish that linger within its depths. The whispers, once filled with life and beauty, now bear a mournful tone, as if mourning their own fading existence. She traverses the familiar paths she knows so well, her feet barely touching the ground, blending seamlessly with the ethereal ambiance of the grove.
​
As Lillia ventures further into the heart of the forest, she encounters pockets of the enigmatic darkness that taints the once-vibrant foliage. It clings to the leaves like a suffocating shroud, draining their life essence and casting a somber veil over the grove. Her heart aches with a bittersweet blend of sorrow and determination as she extends her delicate fingers, hoping to kindle a glimmer of restoration in the corrupted leaves.
​
With each tender touch, Lillia feels the pulse of the grove, a shared heartbeat reverberating through her being. She whispers words of solace, her voice a gentle zephyr that rustles through the branches, carrying the essence of hope upon its breath. Despite the looming threat of darkness, Lillia remains resolute, refusing to surrender to despair. Her resolve, akin to a flickering candle flame, only grows stronger in the face of adversity.
​
Motivated by her unwavering love for the grove and its denizens, Lillia presses onward, guided by an unseen hand. Though the whispers of the ancient trees have dimmed, their echo still resonates deep within her spirit, urging her forward. She knows that the fate of the grove, and all it symbolizes, rests squarely upon her shoulders, much to her dismay.
​
As Lillia cautiously ventures deeper into the heart of the forest, an unsettling truth begins to reveal itself. A long-dormant and wicked force has awoken, casting a dark shadow over the once serene grove. This entity, known as the Shadowveil, now emerges with sinister intent. It thrives on the dreams of the innocent, twisting their hopes and aspirations into haunting nightmares.
​
Within the labyrinthine depths of the forest, Lillia's timid nature senses the presence of this awakened malevolence. Her heart races, and a shiver of fear runs down her spine. The whispers of the trees, usually comforting, now carry a somber warning, urging her to beware the dangers that lie ahead.
​
With each cautious step she takes, Lillia's trembling hooves navigate the treacherous paths of the grove. She treads carefully, her senses on high alert for any sign of the encroaching darkness. The once peaceful sanctuary transforms into a battleground where opposing forces clash, leaving her overwhelmed and uncertain.
​
As Lillia continues her journey, she encounters undeniable signs of the Shadowveil's presence. Twisted and thorny vines replace the once vibrant foliage, their grotesque forms seemingly mocking her. The once fragrant air now carries a dank, foreboding scent, making her nose wrinkle in discomfort. The forest she once found solace in becomes an unsettling place that tests her fragile courage.
​
In a hidden glade deep within the grove, Lillia stumbles upon an ancient mural that tells the chilling tale of the Shadowveil's rise. The vivid images depict innocence transforming into despair, a sight that strikes fear into her trembling heart. Though her natural instinct is to flee, a flicker of determination stirs within her, urging her to face the daunting challenge before her.
​
With trembling hands, Lillia reaches out to trace the faded lines of the mural, her touch hesitant yet filled with a desperate need to understand. The mural responds to her timid touch, emitting a faint glow as if it recognizes her presence. Whispers, both ancient and gentle, guide her through forgotten incantations that may hold the key to confronting the Shadowveil's grip.
​
As Lillia cautiously ventured deeper into the heart of the forest, she confronted the twisted creatures that emerged from the influence of the Shadowveil. These grotesque beings, born from the malevolent force, had transformed the once-familiar inhabitants of the grove into corrupted and joyless beings.
​
With her lithe frame and nimble movements, Lillia engaged in stealthy battles, relying on her agility and the latent magic of her dream-laden branch. Swinging it with grace and precision, she swiftly neutralized the corrupted beings, ensuring that her strikes found their mark.
​
But it was not only her physical prowess that aided her. Lillia's connection to the dreamscape granted her an advantage beyond mortal capabilities. Tapping into the ethereal realm of dreams, she wove intricate patterns of energy, casting ethereal strands with a wave of her branch. These strands ensnared the minions of the Shadowveil, trapping them within their own nightmares.
​
As the dream traps took hold, Lillia witnessed a transformation in the corrupted beings. Their twisted forms convulsed and contorted as they struggled against the invisible restraints. In that struggle, their captivated minds were freed, the darkness fading away to reveal glimpses of the innocence and purity that had been stolen from them.
​
Filled with compassion and determination, Lillia saw these battles as opportunities for redemption, not destruction. Each encounter became a testament to her strength and the power of dreams. With each release, she glimpsed the flickering hope that her efforts might eventually restore balance and light to the grove.
​
With each victorious encounter, Lillia pressed on, guided by ancient whispers and the luminescent glow of her dream-laden branch. The path ahead grew increasingly perilous, yet her courage blossomed alongside the challenges she faced. No longer burdened by trembling hooves, she moved forward with purpose, delving further into the darkness that enveloped the grove.
​
And so, Lillia continued her whimsical struggle against the Shadowveil, combining nimble grace with dream-woven magic to battle its corrupted minions. Through each encounter, she inched closer to unraveling the malevolent force's hold on the innocent. With every ethereal trap she crafted, she moved one step closer to reclaiming the dreams that had been devoured by the insidious entity.
​
As Lillia valiantly battled the twisted creatures born from the influence of the Shadowveil, she embarked on a poignant journey to uncover the origins of this malevolent force. Hidden among the verdant foliage, she discovered ancient carven stones adorned with intricate symbols, each stone revealing a fragment of a sorrowful tale.
​
Through the hushed whispers of forgotten lore, Lillia pieced together the tragic story of the Shadowveil. Long ago, it was not a harbinger of darkness but a benevolent guardian spirit, entrusted with the sacred duty of nurturing the dreams and aspirations that bloomed within the grove.
​
Before corruption had tainted its essence, the Shadowveil embodied ethereal beauty and a gentle grace. It danced with the sunlight filtering through the leaves, casting enchanting patterns of shadow and light. Its presence inspired hope and filled the hearts of the grove's inhabitants with a sense of wonder.
​
But destiny, cruel and capricious, intervened. A lost and tormented wraith, wandering through the realms, encountered the radiant spirit of the Shadowveil. This wraith, consumed by its own suffering, saw the purity within the guardian spirit as an opportunity to perpetuate its own despair.
​
The wraith's malevolence seeped into the very fabric of the Shadowveil's being, tainting its essence with an overwhelming darkness. The once-ethereal spirit was consumed by the weight of its own despair, transforming into the malevolent entity now known as the Shadowveil.
​
Lillia's heart ached as she envisioned the radiant spirit that the Shadowveil had once been. She could almost see its luminescent form, glowing with the dreams and aspirations of the grove's inhabitants. It was a heartbreaking reminder of the innocence lost and the tragic fate that had befallen the guardian spirit.
​
Driven by compassion and a deep sense of empathy, Lillia fought not only to restore stolen dreams but also to bring solace and redemption to the corrupted spirit. Each encounter with the Shadowveil's minions served as a poignant reminder of the beauty that had been extinguished and the pain that now permeated the grove.
​
Her dream-laden branch pulsed with an otherworldly power, a testament to the dreams and hopes it held. The luminescent glow that emanated from it whispered of forgotten memories, guiding Lillia deeper into the heart of the forest. She was determined to not only heal the grove but also to offer a glimmer of healing to the wounded spirit that had once been the radiant guardian of dreams.
​
As Lillia pressed onward, the battles against the corrupted minions of the Shadowveil became a somber dance between despair and hope. She fought not only for the dreams and aspirations of the innocent but also for the chance to bring redemption to a spirit lost in the depths of its own anguish.
​
Driven by her unwavering compassion for the forest and her kin, Lillia ventured deeper into the heart of the grove, guided by the radiant glow of her dream-laden branch. Her destination was the sacred clearing where the formidable Shadowveil stood, its twisted form casting an ominous shadow that seemed to suffocate the land.
​
With a mixture of grace and occasional clumsiness, Lillia initiated her intricate dance, effortlessly evading the tree-like entity's attacks. Her dream-laden branch emanated an ethereal glow, pulsating with the pure essence of dreams she had reclaimed from the corrupted minions she had encountered. Each strike she delivered resonated with a potent determination, gradually weakening the Shadowveil's hold on the forest.
​
The ancient guardian spirit, now enveloped in darkness, unleashed waves of malevolent energy, its branches contorting and reaching out hungrily. Yet, Lillia's otherworldly agility allowed her to evade the grasping tendrils with nimble movements. Although her dance bore hints of awkwardness and unrefined elegance, it exuded a raw beauty that stemmed from her unwavering conviction and the glimmer of hope that persisted within the Shadowveil.
​
The air grew thick with a palpable blend of despair and longing as the showdown unfolded. Lillia's heart thumped with each beat, resonating with the pain and turmoil she sensed within the corrupted spirit. Deep within the layers of darkness, she knew that a fragment of the radiant guardian's essence still yearned to be set free.
​
With each strike and defensive maneuver, Lillia tapped into not only her own strength but also the collective dreams and aspirations of the grove's inhabitants. The dream-laden branch shimmered, interweaving the hopes and wishes of all who had been affected by the Shadowveil's corruption. Its radiant energy infused her attacks with unwavering power, as if the very essence of the forest rallied behind her, lending her strength in the battle against encroaching shadows.
​
In the midst of the tempestuous confrontation, the ultimate outcome remained uncertain. The delicate balance between Lillia's compassion and the Shadowveil's despair teetered on the precipice of redemption or eternal darkness. Undeterred, she pressed on, guided by an unwavering belief in the transformative power of dreams.
​
As the pivotal moment approached, a surge of energy coursed through Lillia's being. A torrent of radiant light, interwoven with the very essence of dreams, gathered within her. With unwavering determination, she unleashed this formidable power, directing it towards the looming presence of the Shadowveil. The luminous cascade enveloped the corrupted entity, penetrating the layers of darkness that had plagued it for far too long.
​
The surge of radiant energy, infused with the dreams reclaimed from the Shadowveil's minions, acted as a cleansing force, unravelling the insidious tendrils of corruption that had ensnared the ancient guardian spirit. The Shadowveil convulsed, its twisted form contorting in a mixture of agony and relief. Lillia's magic, driven by her boundless compassion, permeated every inch of the entity, offering solace and forgiveness in its wake.
​
In that climactic moment, the weary guardian found solace at last. The essence of the Shadowveil yielded to the soothing embrace of an eternal slumber, its torment finally laid to rest. Lillia, her voice filled with heartfelt empathy, whispered a tender wish for pleasant dreams to accompany the guardian spirit in its eternal repose.
​
As the radiant energy dissipated, a serene stillness settled upon the grove. The corrupted tendrils that had tainted the once-vibrant land withdrew, vanishing into ethereal wisps of shadow. The oppressive shroud cast by the Shadowveil lifted, and the grove bathed in the gentle glow of renewed tranquility.
​
With the malevolence banished, the grove erupted in joyful celebration. The once-stunted flora flourished with newfound vitality, their vibrant hues painting the landscape with a kaleidoscope of colors. Delicate flowers bloomed, their fragrant petals dancing upon the soft caress of the breeze. Sunlight filtered through the dense foliage, casting enchanting patterns of light and shadow upon the rejuvenated forest floor.
​
The inhabitants of the grove, from the tiniest woodland creatures to the towering ancient trees, reveled in the return of harmonious existence. Their spirits lifted as the weight of the Shadowveil's corruption dissipated, replaced by a profound sense of hope and bliss. Whispers of gratitude echoed through the verdant expanse, mingling with joyous songs of celebration, creating a symphony of nature's delight.
​
And yet, amidst the jubilation, an air of anticipation lingered.
​
Lillia stood amidst the vibrant grove, her heart swelling with a newfound victory and a flicker of courage that had ignited within her. The triumph over the Shadowveil had awakened her spirit to the possibilities that lay beyond the familiar confines of her secluded home. The forest, in all its ancient wisdom, seemed to beckon her towards the mysteries of the wider Ionian realm, urging her to step out and interact with the humans who dwelled there.
​
As she stared into the distance, Lillia felt a tantalizing sense of adventure tugging at her very core. Her imagination painted vivid pictures of encounters, friendships, and stories that awaited her beyond the boundaries of her forest sanctuary. The allure of the unknown whispered promises of growth and connection, enticing her to take that leap of faith.
​
But just as she was about to muster the courage to step forward, a chilling breeze of doubt swept through her. Fear, like an old adversary, crept into her thoughts, whispering tales of rejection and the pain of not being accepted by the world beyond. It gnawed at her, threatening to shatter her fragile hopes and dreams.
​
With a heavy sigh, Lillia gently shook her head, as if trying to dispel the doubts that threatened to hold her back. She knew that her journey, though filled with triumphs, wasn't quite complete. There were still layers of healing and growth she needed to unravel before venturing into the uncharted territory of the human realm.
​
Resolute in her decision, Lillia chose to return to her secluded existence, at least for now. She embraced the contentment that came with the personal victory she had achieved, finding solace in the healing embrace of the grove. The forest, sensing her choice, whispered its gratitude, a gentle breeze carrying its appreciation through the rustling leaves. The ancient trees, now teeming with newfound life and vibrant energy, swayed and sang songs of heartfelt appreciation to their humble protector.
​
Lillia understood that her journey would continue, guided by the whispers of the wind and the dreams that still burned within her. She knew that, one day, when the time was right, she would gather enough strength to step beyond the safety of her forest home and embrace the human world with open arms. But for now, she would cherish the tranquility of her grove, nurturing her own spirit and blossoming alongside the vibrant flora that surrounded her.

So for those who have been asking about my f35 here's an update on how it's going. For those looking for some reading material before bed I got you covered as well.
Things I've changed: - weapon panel. It went from barely functional to completely inoperative. Currently working on auto sorting/switching weapons panel to replace the old manual one.
-control system. I added extra keybinds for important things (autopilot, gear, flight mode, launch) and added controller support so it now supports hotas systems! Only downside is that when I looked at it again after having not touched it in a day or two, there is an uncontrollable oscillation above 200knots. The current 'fix' is turning down the leading edge flaps but that messes with trim which messes with autopilot which messes with everything. Safe to say this system is worse off than it was a few days ago, but it's on a better path so eventually it'll get good. I might end up fitting a hotas seat into the plane just for the extra keybinds and axis. This plane is already a dream to fly (when working properly) so being able to keep your hands on the controls would be great! Only downside is that I need to relocate 1 panel in the cockpit and I haven't decided where to put it. So for now, the old seat stays.
-core systems. I am trying desperately to simplify the computational load of the f35 without sacrificing features. I taught myself tables today and they will definitely come into play as a go forward with this project. Today alone I removed 16 lua blocks from the weapon system. I went from every pylon doing its own math to one central brain in a different MC that just pumps out what pylon to drop and when. Progress is decent in the optimization department!
-attitude. Don't get me wrong, this is still the single most complex system I've ever built in stormworks. Half the systems haven't been started, and the other half are barely functional. I've already put over 200 hours into the project over the past few months and it often feels like 2 steps forward 1 step back, but right now I feel more motivated to work on it than I did when I first saw those bays open. So even if this project is formed to fail, it will not be going down anytime soon.
-canopy. The all important canopy. The aesthetics did not change but the brain did. For reference on how much power I'm putting into this computer, the canopy talks to the main systems on board. For 99% of applications the canopy will do exactly what you want it to without your input being required. The other 1%? It's being worked on. That's kinda the goal of this whole plane. I want to do as little as possible as a stormworks pilot but man I really hate it when a computer does something you didn't want it to do. That just gives yall a good reference as to what my thought process is here.
OK as much as I love talking about my FCS dying, autopilot crying, weapon system reviving, and canopy vibing, I think it's time we talk game plan. There were a lot of people mentioning how they just couldn't wait for this thing to go up on the workshop. So for those of you dying from anticipation, I expect a funeral invite. This project has taken a long time, and there isn't a single aspect of the plane that I am even close to happy with yet. As much as I would love to put this plane on the workshop right now, I just can't. It NEEDS to be perfect. Saying "a long time" and "perfect" doesn't allow for reasonable time estimates, instead, I'll just list off some of the main goals of the plane (subject to change of course) and yall can make your estimates on how long these will take me to implement. Remember, half the fun is learning how to do it, so every system will be home grown for this plane. Also I know these are basically unattainable, but either I make it happen or this plane never gets seen on the workshop so let's hope for a miracle shall we :P.
Flight control system goals: - full controllekeyboard support with selectable control types based on controller needs (sticky throttle vs centering throttle for example)

• full INS based flight control system. Ability to auto trim every axis without feeling too snappy or unpredictable. If drift exists, it should be from your flightstick, not the plane.
  
• complete flight modes. Ex: dogfight mode with increased control responsiveness, landing mode with autoleveling, descent rate control, and auto flaring.
  
• perfect in all weather conditions. If I feel the need to look at the wind setting, somethings gone horribly wrong. The wind doesn't move mountains, so why should it move my plane?
  

-capable. If I ask to roll at 360°/s. It must roll at 360°/s and it must do it with a "yes sir, anything else?" Attitude
Auto Pilot System Goals: - full GCAS system. If my autopilot hits the ocean, my plane better be on fire.
-the classic gps stuff dialed to 11. Alt hold that works perfectly at every speed, autoheading that tracks a line on the floor, and a system that both levels roll and compensates for it. If I decide that my plane flies better on its side, the autopilot should agree.
-auto formation. Two reasons: 1, once I install everything else, this will be easy, and two, because a screenshot with 4 f35s in diamond formation would be epic.
-auto takeoff and landing. I'm not sure if this was shown yet, but my map display has every static airport in game coded into it. My dream is to be at one airport, click on another, and watch my plane do everything without me. Future plans to add carrier landings as well.
MFD goals. - map display. Full pan, zoom, and follow features (duh) as well as information overlays(weapon and navigation). Picture things like points of interest, laser designator(s?), IFF locations, and of course, airports.

• navigation display. Essentially the better way to talk to your autopilot. Tell it things like remain level, stay at 1000 meters, land here. Basically anything that doesn't fit with a keybind or on the map display. One notable goal is that both panels could be up side by side allowing you to input way points, and visualize flight plans a lot easier.

-FCS display. Plane info. Easy as that. Fuel, battery, AOA, control positions, flight modes. Nice and simple.
-weapon display. My biggest planned compromise... I have 2 options here; I could build a fully proprietary standard and use home brewed weapons with amazing integration, or use a standardized approach ensuring compatibility. I chose the latter. I'm not the best at anything , and certainly not with weapons. I decides I'll leave that up to the community. That doesn't mean the weapon Page will be bad though. It's still going to auto group weapons by type, offer different firing modes, a wide suite of guidance types, and of course, a quality sequencer. This is what I worked on today and even though I still haven't started most of the features, the polish on the parts I have finished is definitely good enough for me.
-EW display. [REDACTED]. Jk of course. I'm not that multiplayer type so I don't really care if people take my EW systems. To be clear, there is 0% chance the public release is going to be fully featured, but it certainly wont need an ew pod. Planned features include radio sweeping/jamming, radio tracking, multi-standard IFF, datalink, frequency hopping, and depending on how ambitious I'm feeling, maybe some code breaking as well. Again, I'm not that multiplayer type, so I'll probably never see the benefit from these systems. But to have such a nice plane be spoiled by a radio guided missile would be a crime. Side note, currently there are exactly 0 antenna in the build, but I'm sure I'll find space somewhere...
Conclusion. Would you look at that! A list of goals so ambitious there's no chance he'll accomplish any of it! Yeah, probably. Nice to dream I guess. Anyway, here's the fun part: I'm easy to persuade, and I am shooting for every bell and whistle I can think of. That means if one of yall give me a sales pitch for a feature I should add, it will most likely end up on the list. Also if yall have standards or references you think I should take a look at, I will gladly do so.

The prowess.
People like Agila didn't get full rights of citizenship, so she didn't have the six years of formal schooling most in the Kingdom did. Growing up, though, she would play with the kids that weren't condemned to die. They told her the tales, fables and histories of the forbidden source of power that had once nearly destroyed the world. Legends of great heroes who wielded the prowess to defeat terrible villains.
And one terrible villain, in particular, that wielded it to try and swallow the world in a sea of green.
This sea of green, she thought, looking up as she and Feraz passed under a purple vine that extended between two trees. The farther they got into the forest, the darker it became. It was not as dark, at least so far, as she had expected. Not while the sun shone above the canopy. Thin rays of light squeezed through small openings above, casting daggers of crimson light around them. Crimson light.
Agila stopped in her tracks. "How long have we been walking?" she asked. Feraz stopped and turned to her, raising an eyebrow at the alarm in her tone. "Hard to say. A few hours maybe, why?" Agila began picking up any bits of dry wood she could find. "We need to start a fire. Right now!" she said. Feraz stood dumbfounded for a moment, then noticed as a ray of crimson light that had landed on his boot lost some of its intensity. His eyes shot wide.
"The sun is setting."
Agila felt the panic rising in her chest as what little light the dense canopy allowed to reach them began to swiftly fade. She had built a small teepee out of the dry sticks she had found and put some of the dry fibers from under the bark of a tree inside it to catch any flame they could produce. Beads of sweat dripped off of the forehead of Feraz as he worked two sticks together, trying to get a lump of dust hot enough to ignite the fibers.
As Agila backed against a tree to try and calm herself, she felt something nudge her from her back pocket.
"I forgot!" she said, startling Feraz and making him lose his concentration. He looked up warily at the waning light as he reset the sticks. Agila reached into her pocket and retrieved what the Warden had put there before unceremoniously shoving her off a cliff.
It was a small dagger in a beaten leather sheath that looked to be older than the Kings loremaster. The hilt had a series of runes on it she didn't recognize, and the pommel was made of a strange metal that was warm to the touch. She withdrew the blade from its sheath and gasped, startling Feraz again as one of his sticks snapped.
"Well, we're fucked," he said, then his jaw swung open as he looked up from his work at Agila. "That's what you forgot?" he asked incredulously. "How the hell do you forget an enchanted dagger?"
Agila didn't answer. She hadn't heard him. So rapt was her attention on this strange gift. The blade was exquisite. It was sharpened on both sides, and she didn't need to test it to know it was razor sharp. It shimmered in the dying light, and Agila felt a strange feeling wash over her. "Why would he give this to me?" she asked to herself out loud.
"Who?" Feraz replied. Agila finally summoned the willpower to snap her eyes from the light coming off the blade. "Hark," she said. "Right before he pushed me in, he said he was sorry and put this in my pocket." Feraz looked her up and down, then raised an eyebrow.
"Nice," he said, grinning and nodding his head. Agila felt the blood rising in her cheeks. "I didn't- It's not like that!" she said, crossing her arms. "Besides, this hardly helps our current problem, Feraz," she gestured to the broken sticks he had been using to try and get an ember. A brief look of confusion crossed his face, before it was replaced with one of pity.
"I- I'm sorry. I forgot," he said, embarrassment joining the party of emotions playing out on his face. "People like you don't get to learn the old ways. Hell, I don't even think they teach regular kids anymore. Not enough relics to go around, I guess." Agila shrugged expectantly, so he continued. "We don't need the sticks, Agila. Not when you have that." he said, pointing to the dagger.
"You can just light the fire with prowess."
"What?"
Agila was looking at Feraz like he was crazy, but he was too busy anxiously looking up at the last of the light to notice. The darkness was closing in around them.
"Right. Crash course in prowess, ok," he said. "Uh, it's been a while..." Agila sheathed the dagger and shoved it at Feraz. "You do it, then, loremaster," she said. He backed away with his hands up. "As much as I would love to try, that's not the way it works, kid." He looked at the dagger in her hand, but it was getting very dark now so he moved closer again.
"The dagger must have taken that apology the Warden gave you as a bond. Relics don't just shine like that for anyone who picks them up, that much I know." A howl sounded nearby and the pair backed up against a tree. "Intent!" Feraz whispered. "You're supposed to feel some kind of connection, then you just, speak to it, or something."
A thud made both of them jump.
"We're out of options, Agila."
Agila drew the blade and closed her eyes.
"Ignite," she whispered, and felt something shift in her mind. Feraz begin to shake beside her. The thumping noises were getting closer. "Ignite!" She shouted.
And the blade burst into flames.
A dozen glowing eyes glinted in the darkness, then retreated. Feraz laughed, slumping down as his legs gave out beneath him. Agila lit the fire, then sheathed the blade. She offered to take first watch, and Feraz gratefully accepted. As he slept, Agila examined the blade by the firelight.
And she tried to figure out why the bizarre feeling it gave her was strangely familiar.

Apologies if this is overstepping, but I wanted to organize the story for other folks to discover and enjoy! Thank you so much for writing this amazing tale jpb103
No one returns from the depths.
The chains binding the prisoners rattled against the deck as the airship hovered low over the canopy. Agila peeked over the edge, her emerald eyes searching desperately into the darkness beyond the canopy for any reason to hope for survival.
The Forest undulated unnaturally as waves rippled through the tops of the trees in the airships wake. Agila could barely make out strange noises rising from below over the humming of the engines. She felt the familiar pin pricks on the back of her neck that meant she was being watched. Warden Hark approached and looked over the edge beside her.
"I'd be looking up, if I were you, not down," he said. "Get as much of that sky as you can, kid. Once your sentence is carried out, you'll never see it again."
Agila sighed, and did as he suggested. Hark always left her unsure of how to feel about him. He had a habit of saying the meanest things in the nicest way possible. At the top of the mast, the spotter shouted down to the helmsman. Agila felt her heart rate pick up. This is it.
"Port ahead, Warden. Setting her down." The Captain said. Hark nodded, then turned to address his charges.
"Alright, boys," he said, then looked at Agila and cleared his throat. "And, er, girl. You all know what comes next." The Warden stood up straight, retrieved a scroll from his jacket and read all their names from the list.
"For your crimes, you have all been sentenced to death by the sea of green." His eyes darted to Agilas briefly, and something flashed in those normally expressionless onyx eyes. Was that sadness? He looked back at the scroll and continued.
"You may enter the forest and descend, or stay at the edge and be shot." Hark rolled up the scroll and replaced it in his jacket pocket. "Have you any last words?"
Feraz, the middle aged man chained next to Agila, stepped forward a half step.
"Is the old way still honored?" He asked. Hark closed his eyes and sighed, then opened them and nodded.
"If you find what rests at the bottom and bring it back to the surface, you will win your freedom, yes." The Warden said, a grim look painting his face. "I don't include that line on purpose, Feraz," he continued.
"No one returns from the depths."
The choice was an easy one for Agila.
Die now or suffer and die later. Suffering, she could do. That was her comfort zone. She was the only one among her fellow prisoners who's only crime was being born. It had been more than three centuries since the edict was enacted; all girls born under a lunar eclipse would be stripped of their last names and families. They would be forced to live on the streets, then be rounded up when they came of age and sent into the forest to die.
"Agila Darkmoon" Hark called from behind her, his pistol leveled to the back of her head. "What do you choose?" Agila stood on the edge of the ravine that led down into the highest level of the forest. The angle was steep enough to descend the 30 or so feet to the forest floor without breaking your legs, but to get back out this way would be impossible. The three prisoners before her had chosen the bullet. She looked down upon their lifeless bodies splayed out on the forest floor. I've trained my whole life for this, she thought. I'm not dying today.
"I choose to enter," she said, and heard Hark breath out a sigh of relief behind her. Despite his gruff bluntness and the harsh nature of his career, she was surprised to find that she did not hate him. More than once she felt his eyes linger on her. More than once she saw a glimmer of regret. He wasn't much older than she was, and had the darker complexion and jet black hair of the Tenari people of the southern continent. He surprised her again when he leaned in next to her ear, and she felt him slide something in her pocket.
"I am truly sorry," he whispered.
Right before he pushed her in.

[First] Prev/ Next
I took her hand and rose, ready to start another day of searching.
“So what do I need to use in order to do a reanimation?” I asked her.
“Well, in your case, you’ll want some rather specific reagents: phlox flowers, nettles and a shed skin of some sort. I’m fairly certain we can find the nettles -stinging nettles, mind you- and the shed skin relatively easily, but I’m not so sure about the phlox flowers. I’m not sure they grow wild here in West Virginia. Not natively, at least,” she replied.
“Nettles, huh? I’m gonna grab something to hold it, because I do not want to deal with that rash,” I said, ducking back into the tent. I grabbed a dirty shirt, and tied it into a makeshift bag, fully expecting to burn it once we were done with this trip. I then went and grabbed a quick snack to have for the day, and we walked out of the cave, striking off towards the small waterfall.
“Well. This is likely going to be a challenge. I have never heard of phlox, and we will be lucky to find some snakeskin at this time of year. Nettle should be fairly easy. It grows in damp areas and disturbed soil, like old farms and such. I’m not relishing the idea of touching it, though. Yeah, this is going to be difficult. How much of each do I need?” I concluded.
“Well, phlox are grown in flower gardens, right? They probably spread on the wind, or by some other animal. We are in the wild, so if you know where snakes nest, we can probably find some shed skin, and I think I saw some nettles by the creek. As to how much? That will be up to you to determine. Your intuition will be the only guide you will have. Not because I don’t want to or can’t, but because I simply don’t know. You do things very differently from anything I’ve encountered in my five thousand years,” Katira replied with a shrug.
I nodded, conceding the point. From everything I’d experienced this week, I was a bit of an anomaly when it came to Necromancy. “Well, I guess we’ll just see what happens then, won’t we?” I asked with a smile.
Katired smiled back and nodded and we began searching in earnest for my reagents. Once we reached the waterfall, a quick glance told me that there were no nettles around, so we headed downstream, eyes scanning for any trace of the plants.
We didn’t find anything for the first few hours. Just more mint and several terrified crayfish. I spied several fallen logs on the opposite side, but investigations proved fruitless. I had no idea how far we had wandered from the cave, but it was probably rather far.
Having found nothing on this side of the stream, I decided to cross it and wander into the wooded area on the other side. I figured I could do with the change in scenery, as I probably had a sunburn by now.
We traipsed into the woods, being mindful of the undergrowth. I made sure to mark our path with some deadfall leaned up against the trees at unnatural angles so we might be able to follow them back to the stream.
We saw several lizards skittering through the undergrowth, a plethora of spiders, and even saw a fox in the distance. No nettles or phloxes or snake skins, unfortunately. I was about to give up and turn back towards the creek when Katira took my arm gently and pointed to a shaded clearing in the forest.
“Master. Look over there. I think that may be nettle.”
I looked over and saw a patch of rather tall, green plants that looked like gigantic peppermint, only with spiky holly-like leaves. I approached cautiously, not wanting to come in contact with the plant if I could help it. I pulled out my multitool, clamped the pliers on a leaf, and pulled it off the plant.
I took the leaf a distance from the patch and inspected it closely. Under the right angle of light, there were, indeed, small translucent hairs all over it.
“Yep. This is nettle. One whole plant should be enough, I think,” I said, heading back to the patch.
The plants were nearly three feet tall and bushy. I carefully placed a stick against a stem, and cut it off at the ground, making sure the thing wouldn’t fall on my back. I gently sliced the thick stem into sections, and put them into my makeshift bag, which Katira helpfully held open for me. Once the nettles were secured, I tied the shirt to a long stick and carried it like a bindle.
“One down, two to go!” I said happily. “Let’s get out of here and find a field. More likely to find wildflowers there, and if we’re lucky, we’ll find a phlox or two. What do you think?” I asked, looking at my familiar with a smile.
“I think that’s a wise choice, Master. It’s after noon, and I’m sure you’re getting hungry. Hopefully, we will find the other two reagents soon. Let’s go,” she said softly, and we began our trek out of the forest.
On our way back to the stream, I caught sight of a field off to my left. I pointed it out to Katira, and she agreed that it would be a likely place to begin our search. After about an hour, we emerged from the canopy, and I walked over to the stream.
I took off my shoes and socks, and dipped my feet into the cool waters, relishing the relief. Katira sat beside me, and leaned back on her hands, looking at the clouds.
“You know, I never thought I’d be doing this, Master.”
“Doing what?”
“Teaching Initiates. Working with my Master instead of for him. Being treated like I was a person, not a tool. You’ve done things for me that haven’t happened in hundreds of years. But being trusted enough to teach? That’s a new thing for me. Thank you, Master.”
I chuckled softly. “Treating you like a person shouldn’t be a bonus. It should be the norm. No matter the form you take. Even if you have been taught that you aren’t a person, as far as I’m concerned that is exactly what you are to me. A person. Someone I care for. Someone I care about. And as long as I may live, that’s what you’ll always be treated as.” I patted her hand, and closed my fingers around hers.
We sat there in companionable silence for a bit, and I ate the snack I’d brought. I pulled my feet from the water, let them dry and put my footwear back on. We rose, and headed off into the field to look for our last two reagents.
As luck would have it, I spied an old shed skin on the ground not ten feet into the field. Snatching it up, I stuffed it into a pocket, and continued on. One more item to go.
I stopped in my tracks. “Come to think of it, I’ve never actually seen a phlox. Nobody really grew flowers when I was a kid, and I’ve never had any real desire to grow them, myself. Let’s check the Grimoire,” I said.
As I opened the Grimoire, Katira rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Master? You don’t know what a phlox looks like?” she asked, crossing her arms beneath her breasts.
“Nope,” I said as I leafed through the entries on the plant. “Figured I’d know it when I saw it. I do know that there are several different species. Are any preferred? Like with the mint?” I asked as I found the correct entry.
“No, as they all bear similar enough energy that it doesn’t matter. Unlike mint which has a distinct difference in the energies of the plants. All mints will work, but some just work better,” she replied, tapping her foot as I searched through the entry.
There were several pictures of different phlox species. It appeared that at least one of my predecessors had been from the US, and there was a separate list for each species. Handy. As I flipped through the pictures, I spied one that looked familiar.
“Oh shit. I’ve seen these a few times. Never knew what they were until now. In fact, I think I see some over there by that pile of stone,” I said, closing the Grimoire. “Shall we?” I asked, offering my arm to the lady beside me.
She wrapped her arms around mine and held herself close to me. “Yes, Master. Let’s go.”
We walked off a ways from the stream towards the pile of stone, chatting amiably with each other. As we neared it, I felt a chill, as if I’d walked through a barrier of some sort and stopped in my tracks.
“Katira? What the fuck was that?” I asked, my voice low and quiet.
“What do you mean, Master?”
“I just felt like I walked through a wall of ice water, is what I mean.”
“I didn’t perceive it, so I cannot say.”
“Let’s, uh…let’s get what we came for and leave, okay? I suddenly feel very uncomfortable.”
Katira nodded and we slowly approached the pile of stones. As we neared, my unease began to grow more and more insistent until it was all but shrieking at me to turn and run. I stopped in front of the patch of beautiful blue flowers and knelt.
“This is a grave, Katira. Someone is buried here. It’s not a dump, nor was it an accident. Someone chose to be buried here, in the middle of nowhere, with nobody nearby, and only a cairn of stone to mark their final resting place,” I said softly.
“How do you know this, Master?”
“I’m not sure. Something just screams sacred space here. It commands reverence and respect. Whoever this was, they were highly regarded and loved. And they loved this area so much that they demanded to become part of the land,” I said with conviction. “I wonder who she was,” I murmured.
“What did you say?” Katira whispered.
“Hmmm? Oh, I just wanted to know who this was,” I said.
“No. You said she. Why did you specify she?” Katira asked, her hands trembling.
“I did? Huh. I don’t recall a pronoun leaving my lips, but if you say I said it, then I’ll believe you. What’s got you so worked up?” I asked, standing and taking her trembling hands in mine.
“My former Master. She would talk about her late partner frequently. How much she loved this area. How she never wanted to be away from it, even in death. How the two of them would sit on that-”
“-boulder and watch the fish and the crawdads play in the pool beneath the waterfall. How they would walk through the woods together, foraging for nettles and mushrooms and berries. And how her wife picked the wrong mushroom one day, and was found dead in their home. Destroying Angel, wasn’t it?” I asked quietly, receiving a tear-filled nod from my familiar.
“How?” she asked through her tears.
I looked down at the grave, the unease I once felt replaced by something different. Something profound. As I stared, realization flooded through me, and I looked up into my familiar’s beautiful, bloodshot eyes. “Because, if I had to hazard a guess, either your former Master or her wife lives on in me,” I said in a whisper.
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Master List

I took her hand and rose, ready to start another day of searching.
“So what do I need to use in order to do a reanimation?” I asked her.
“Well, in your case, you’ll want some rather specific reagents: phlox flowers, nettles and a shed skin of some sort. I’m fairly certain we can find the nettles -stinging nettles, mind you- and the shed skin relatively easily, but I’m not so sure about the phlox flowers. I’m not sure they grow wild here in West Virginia. Not natively, at least,” she replied.
“Nettles, huh? I’m gonna grab something to hold it, because I do not want to deal with that rash,” I said, ducking back into the tent. I grabbed a dirty shirt, and tied it into a makeshift bag, fully expecting to burn it once we were done with this trip. I then went and grabbed a quick snack to have for the day, and we walked out of the cave, striking off towards the small waterfall.
“Well. This is likely going to be a challenge. I have never heard of phlox, and we will be lucky to find some snakeskin at this time of year. Nettle should be fairly easy. It grows in damp areas and disturbed soil, like old farms and such. I’m not relishing the idea of touching it, though. Yeah, this is going to be difficult. How much of each do I need?” I concluded.
“Well, phlox are grown in flower gardens, right? They probably spread on the wind, or by some other animal. We are in the wild, so if you know where snakes nest, we can probably find some shed skin, and I think I saw some nettles by the creek. As to how much? That will be up to you to determine. Your intuition will be the only guide you will have. Not because I don’t want to or can’t, but because I simply don’t know. You do things very differently from anything I’ve encountered in my five thousand years,” Katira replied with a shrug.
I nodded, conceding the point. From everything I’d experienced this week, I was a bit of an anomaly when it came to Necromancy. “Well, I guess we’ll just see what happens then, won’t we?” I asked with a smile.
Katired smiled back and nodded and we began searching in earnest for my reagents. Once we reached the waterfall, a quick glance told me that there were no nettles around, so we headed downstream, eyes scanning for any trace of the plants.
We didn’t find anything for the first few hours. Just more mint and several terrified crayfish. I spied several fallen logs on the opposite side, but investigations proved fruitless. I had no idea how far we had wandered from the cave, but it was probably rather far.
Having found nothing on this side of the stream, I decided to cross it and wander into the wooded area on the other side. I figured I could do with the change in scenery, as I probably had a sunburn by now.
We traipsed into the woods, being mindful of the undergrowth. I made sure to mark our path with some deadfall leaned up against the trees at unnatural angles so we might be able to follow them back to the stream.
We saw several lizards skittering through the undergrowth, a plethora of spiders, and even saw a fox in the distance. No nettles or phloxes or snake skins, unfortunately. I was about to give up and turn back towards the creek when Katira took my arm gently and pointed to a shaded clearing in the forest.
“Master. Look over there. I think that may be nettle.”
I looked over and saw a patch of rather tall, green plants that looked like gigantic peppermint, only with spiky holly-like leaves. I approached cautiously, not wanting to come in contact with the plant if I could help it. I pulled out my multitool, clamped the pliers on a leaf, and pulled it off the plant.
I took the leaf a distance from the patch and inspected it closely. Under the right angle of light, there were, indeed, small translucent hairs all over it.
“Yep. This is nettle. One whole plant should be enough, I think,” I said, heading back to the patch.
The plants were nearly three feet tall and bushy. I carefully placed a stick against a stem, and cut it off at the ground, making sure the thing wouldn’t fall on my back. I gently sliced the thick stem into sections, and put them into my makeshift bag, which Katira helpfully held open for me. Once the nettles were secured, I tied the shirt to a long stick and carried it like a bindle.
“One down, two to go!” I said happily. “Let’s get out of here and find a field. More likely to find wildflowers there, and if we’re lucky, we’ll find a phlox or two. What do you think?” I asked, looking at my familiar with a smile.
“I think that’s a wise choice, Master. It’s after noon, and I’m sure you’re getting hungry. Hopefully, we will find the other two reagents soon. Let’s go,” she said softly, and we began our trek out of the forest.
On our way back to the stream, I caught sight of a field off to my left. I pointed it out to Katira, and she agreed that it would be a likely place to begin our search. After about an hour, we emerged from the canopy, and I walked over to the stream.
I took off my shoes and socks, and dipped my feet into the cool waters, relishing the relief. Katira sat beside me, and leaned back on her hands, looking at the clouds.
“You know, I never thought I’d be doing this, Master.”
“Doing what?”
“Teaching Initiates. Working with my Master instead of for him. Being treated like I was a person, not a tool. You’ve done things for me that haven’t happened in hundreds of years. But being trusted enough to teach? That’s a new thing for me. Thank you, Master.”
I chuckled softly. “Treating you like a person shouldn’t be a bonus. It should be the norm. No matter the form you take. Even if you have been taught that you aren’t a person, as far as I’m concerned that is exactly what you are to me. A person. Someone I care for. Someone I care about. And as long as I may live, that’s what you’ll always be treated as.” I patted her hand, and closed my fingers around hers.
We sat there in companionable silence for a bit, and I ate the snack I’d brought. I pulled my feet from the water, let them dry and put my footwear back on. We rose, and headed off into the field to look for our last two reagents.
As luck would have it, I spied an old shed skin on the ground not ten feet into the field. Snatching it up, I stuffed it into a pocket, and continued on. One more item to go.
I stopped in my tracks. “Come to think of it, I’ve never actually seen a phlox. Nobody really grew flowers when I was a kid, and I’ve never had any real desire to grow them, myself. Let’s check the Grimoire,” I said.
As I opened the Grimoire, Katira rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Master? You don’t know what a phlox looks like?” she asked, crossing her arms beneath her breasts.
“Nope,” I said as I leafed through the entries on the plant. “Figured I’d know it when I saw it. I do know that there are several different species. Are any preferred? Like with the mint?” I asked as I found the correct entry.
“No, as they all bear similar enough energy that it doesn’t matter. Unlike mint which has a distinct difference in the energies of the plants. All mints will work, but some just work better,” she replied, tapping her foot as I searched through the entry.
There were several pictures of different phlox species. It appeared that at least one of my predecessors had been from the US, and there was a separate list for each species. Handy. As I flipped through the pictures, I spied one that looked familiar.
“Oh shit. I’ve seen these a few times. Never knew what they were until now. In fact, I think I see some over there by that pile of stone,” I said, closing the Grimoire. “Shall we?” I asked, offering my arm to the lady beside me.
She wrapped her arms around mine and held herself close to me. “Yes, Master. Let’s go.”
We walked off a ways from the stream towards the pile of stone, chatting amiably with each other. As we neared it, I felt a chill, as if I’d walked through a barrier of some sort and stopped in my tracks.
“Katira? What the fuck was that?” I asked, my voice low and quiet.
“What do you mean, Master?”
“I just felt like I walked through a wall of ice water, is what I mean.”
“I didn’t perceive it, so I cannot say.”
“Let’s, uh…let’s get what we came for and leave, okay? I suddenly feel very uncomfortable.”
Katira nodded and we slowly approached the pile of stones. As we neared, my unease began to grow more and more insistent until it was all but shrieking at me to turn and run. I stopped in front of the patch of beautiful blue flowers and knelt.
“This is a grave, Katira. Someone is buried here. It’s not a dump, nor was it an accident. Someone chose to be buried here, in the middle of nowhere, with nobody nearby, and only a cairn of stone to mark their final resting place,” I said softly.
“How do you know this, Master?”
“I’m not sure. Something just screams sacred space here. It commands reverence and respect. Whoever this was, they were highly regarded and loved. And they loved this area so much that they demanded to become part of the land,” I said with conviction. “I wonder who she was,” I murmured.
“What did you say?” Katira whispered.
“Hmmm? Oh, I just wanted to know who this was,” I said.
“No. You said she. Why did you specify she?” Katira asked, her hands trembling.
“I did? Huh. I don’t recall a pronoun leaving my lips, but if you say I said it, then I’ll believe you. What’s got you so worked up?” I asked, standing and taking her trembling hands in mine.
“My former Master. She would talk about her late partner frequently. How much she loved this area. How she never wanted to be away from it, even in death. How the two of them would sit on that-”
“-boulder and watch the fish and the crawdads play in the pool beneath the waterfall. How they would walk through the woods together, foraging for nettles and mushrooms and berries. And how her wife picked the wrong mushroom one day, and was found dead in their home. Destroying Angel, wasn’t it?” I asked quietly, receiving a tear-filled nod from my familiar.
“How?” she asked through her tears.
I looked down at the grave, the unease I once felt replaced by something different. Something profound. As I stared, realization flooded through me, and I looked up into my familiar’s beautiful, bloodshot eyes. “Because, if I had to hazard a guess, either your former Master or her wife lives on in me,” I said in a whisper.

“Alright, let’s get one thing straight: I don’t believe in ghosts, I don’t believe in the Easter bunny, and I sure as hell don’t believe in any wooden people.”
At the murky forest’s outer edge, Tom McCann cleared his throat. He waited until me and Dad stopped and faced him head on, then added, “But I’ve got a crew sitting with their thumbs stuck firmly up their arses because there’s fairytale monsters running around out here, so I’m stuck playing your stupid game. Congratulations.”
My father said, “Mr. McCann, I know you think I'm crazy, or a conman, or probably both. But I'm telling you this one final time, it’s not too late to take a bath on whatever money you might lose and find another project.”
Our employer was a muscular man with an even tan, dressed in a tracksuit and white trainers. He wore a large Rolex, which caught the moonlight every time he scratched his thick, utility pole neck. “Are you about done?”
“I am.”
“Good. You wanna get paid tonight?”
“It would sure be nice.”
“Then shut the hell up and do what I hired you to do.”
“Fair enough,” my father replied. He grabbed two flashlights from his pack and tossed one in my direction.
I caught it, a lump already rising in my throat. A maze of warped, crooked trees lay before us, their skeletal boughs thrust together like sweeping arms. I’d never even seen a wooden person before—I didn’t yet know whether I’d have the courage to face one down. My greatest fear, back then, was disappointing my old man.
Dad guided us along where spaces occurred naturally until, a dozen or so paces into the forest, the foliage thinned out.
Over his shoulder, he said, “So tell me Mr. McCann, isn’t Redburn a national heritage site? I’m surprised you got permission to bulldoze the place.”
“Is that how you’re gonna fix this problem? Show these tree people I’ve got the right paperwork?”
“I was just curious. You’re not the first visitor who tried buying up land for cheap.”
Our employer rolled his eyes. “Well, Patrick, the simple fact is this new development is gonna be the magnet that attracts opportunity. The suits are scared of eco-warriors who cry on Facebook, sure, but they also know everything I touch turns to gold.”
“Didn’t the wildlife trust try to stop you?”
“’Course they did. Luckily, I don’t believe in no’s.”
“Huh, that’s funny. I could have sworn the judge said ‘no’ to your appeal about the recovery order. You had to hand over, what was it, 19 apartments?”
“Those fraud charges were about as legitimate as your little wooden friends,” Tom hissed, his voice bitter.
Upset this outsider was belittling our beliefs, I clenched my jaw, tight. Dad, however, just chuckled. The sceptic couldn't rile him up—not my father, unshakeable as an oak tree, tall and rangy with a shock of greying hair and a long, straight nose, same as mine. He said, “If you don’t believe this crap, why come begging me for help?”
“Two things. One, I came asking for help. And two, I’m no mug. I’ve seen this scam before. You locals make up fairy tales and scream cultural heritage—” air quotes accompanied those words—"to extort the evil entrepreneur from the big city. Well, fair warning, if I don’t see some supernatural shit tonight, you aren’t getting a single cent from me. Sound reasonable?”
“Sure does. Fair warning though, I’d strongly advise not letting any wooden person touch you.”
“Oh gee, I’ll try.” Mr. McCann looked down his nose at me. “Ronan, was it? What age are you Ronan?”
“I’m twelve,” I said.
“Twelve, huh? And is that old enough to come ghost hunting?”
“Ronan can take care of himself,” Dad answered. My face flushed with pleasure at the compliment. “Besides, theres’s things he needs to learn.”
The trail twisted three times, carrying us through marshy grass, alongside a narrow stream, deeper and deeper into the gloom. From out amongst the endless darkness, I could hear the crunch of dead leaves, the snap of rotten wood.
Above the canopy, where we could see it, the moon drifted in and out from behind thick, billowing clouds. And my electrified nerves jumped at every cry of a tiny animal, barely audible beneath the trees whispering in the breeze.
“Well?” Mr. McCann said, after a minute of silence.
“Well what?” Dad asked.
“Isn’t this the part where you tell me about the tree pixies?”
“I thought you didn’t believe in this stuff?”
“I don’t. But I’m not having the crew rock up tomorrow and say you didn’t do the right magic tap dance to cleanse the evil spirits.”
“What do you know about them already?”
“I know they’re keeping me from stream rolling this shithole.”
Dad ducked beneath a bough. “Is that all?”
“They kill children who wander through the forest late at night, blah blah blah. It’s your boilerplate urban—”
Before the baron could finish a mouse scurried out from beneath a downed log. He yelped, hopping from one foot to the other, a little foxtrot, and got to work trying to stomp the little critter, who moved way too fast.
Without looking back, Dad said, “Don’t worry, I’ve seen braver men than you jump out of their skin out here.”
Despite the pent-up anxiety, I chuckled. My father was enjoying this. A lot.
Mr. McCann muttered something too low to hear.
“Well, the kid things partly true,” Dad said on the far side of a nestle of ferns. “What they actually do is—” his voice trailed off there. “You know what, it’s too spooky. We don’t want Tom running off without any evidence, do we Ronan?”
“Stop milking it and tell the bloody story.”
Dad’s beam of light swept across the ground in low arcs. “Ronan, you wanna take this one?”
Around us, trees closed in from every angle. As we bullied our way along, our cheeks and arms were gouged by the lacings of sharp branches. It felt like the forest kept reaching out, placing hands on us. Almost against my will, I found myself admiring their resemblance to hideously elongated figures.
Side-by-side with the developer, I cleared my throat. “The wooden people are like us. Or, well…some are. Others not so much. Do you know what a doppelganger is?”
“Nooo,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“A doppelganger is—”
“He’s joking Ronan,” Dad said, as he pushed through more scratching bracken. Beyond it, there lay an ocean of leaves, choked in darkness.
I said, “Oh. So, there’s this colony of wooden people who live out here in wooden towns. In the old days, they stayed away from us, and we stayed away from them. People didn’t worry about them. Like hurricanes. If you lived somewhere that gets a lot of hurricanes, you’d probably think about them, but in Ireland we’ve never had a hurricane because it’s not a warm tropical climate, so we don’t worry about them. It was the same with wooden people. It was hard to stumble across them.
“But then we started building cities and railways and stuff. That meant their homes kept getting destroyed. So, they started moving around. But then we started building more stuff so—”
Through a narrow gap, I glimpsed movement and hesitated. A chilly draught sent dead leaves scattering across my boots.
Mr. McCann said, “Let me guess, soon they had so little space they got angry and attacked?”
“Well, no. First they tried to explain their problem.”
“Oh, so our wooden friends speak English? They’re like those talking trees in Game of Thrones are they?” He went and stood beside a nearby birch, pressed his mouth up against a large hollow in its bulbous trunk, and said, “Hey Treebeard, you awake? Mind if I bulldoze this place?” The entrepreneur faced us, grinning, those porcelain teeth prominent against the gloom. “Well waddaya know, he said it’s completely fine.”
In the middle of a patch of dirt and mud and weeds, Dad said, “Quiet, Both of you.”
Branches scraped together roughly as the forest shivered in its various joints.
“What is it, a fox?” Mr. McCann asked.
Dad silenced him with a gesture. From somewhere unseen, whispers rang out. Or maybe it was just the wind. My trembling hand struggled to keep hold of the flashlight. Again and again, I wiped the palm sweat on my jacket and prayed Dad wouldn’t notice.
Dad faced us. “Ronan, you stay here with Mr. McCann. I’m gonna—"
“Oh no,” the cynic fired back. “If I stay put, you’ll go out there, smoke a cigarette, and come out panting like you’ve just performed an exorcism.”
Unable to mask his agitation, Dad exhaled through his nostrils. “You came asking for my help, now I’m giving it to you. Nobody’s trying to rip you off, I promise. You don’t live as part of nature, so you don’t see it, but Ireland is bleeding magic. The world is. And now it’s starting to fight back. If there’s wooden people out here tonight, you’re gonna leave this forest a changed man, believe me. But right now, I need you to listen.”
It was strange to see dad angry; he was usually so even-keeled. To me, he said, “Ronan, I’m going to go ahead and lure them out. Stay here and keep a candle lit in case they come this way.”
From my pack, I grabbed an Olympic-style torch and ignited it with a lighter tucked in the side compartment. The idea of not having Dad around for protection made my neck hairs stir. If the wooden people attacked, it would come down to me to protect us.
My father said, “Remember Mr. McCann, whatever happens, don’t let them touch you.”
This warning was met with an eyeroll.
Flashlight in hand, Dad disappeared behind a cluster of ash trees while I stood there, knees wobbling.
“That’s the trouble with you smalltown folk,” Tom said, once the gloom swallowed Dad whole. “All these superstitions. This development could be a great opportunity, more tax revenue, more jobs. But instead you run around scared of things going bump in the night."
“They’re not superstitions,” I snapped, more forcefully than intended. “And besides, even if they were, animals live here too. Are we just gonna wreck their homes so you can make some money?”
“Kid, you see this?” He tapped his Rolex. “This baby cost 50k. The Aston Martin I arrived in was triple that. Your Dad drives a 3-door hatchback that’s older than you are, I heard that shit-heap sputtering up the road five minutes before you appeared. Here’s some free advice: if you wanna make something of yourself, pull your head out of the clouds.”
At the corner of my eye, a black blob filled the gaps between trees, briefly. After I cleared my throat I said, “Money isn’t everything.”
“Sorry to burst your bubble, kid, but it is. Why else would your old man be out here? If he was really set on protecting the forest, why take my money to do this phoney cleansing?”
I didn’t have an answer for that, so I turned away instead.
Another gust of cold air made me shiver. A moment later, there came a trample of dead leaves.
I choked out a feeble, “Dad?”
No response.
“Is this the part where you stage an attack?” Mr. McCann asked, acting bored. But did his voice wobble a little?
Branches stirred as the forest took great, shuddery inhales. It sounded like whispers. The rhythm of my heart quickened.
“It’s a nice trick, I’ll give you that.” Tom did a terrible job at sounding disinterested.
More whispers, behind us now. I said a silent prayer Dad arrived back and then whipped my torch and the flashlight around.
Illuminated by the beam, there stood a huge, tumorous oak tree. From behind it, there came a skitter of rapid steps.
I held out the torch like a shield. “Who’s there?”
My companion hung over me like a shadow, so close his short, quick breaths blasted the back of my neck. What happened to all his bravado?
Barely detectable even with the light, the tree inhaled, exhaled. I stood absolutely still, weapon raised and shaking.
“See?” Mr. McCann stuttered. “It’s nothing. Just the win—”
Before he could finish, a pair of eyes opened, cloudy and pale as though stricken by cataracts. Pressed against the tree a face peered back at us, like a mask made from living bark, and smiled.
Together, Mr. McCann and I screamed. My hands fumbled the torch, which slipped into a patch of mud and extinguished with a wet splatter.
The forest erupted into chatter and whispers. Behind us, up ahead, along both sides. I whipped the flashlight in one direction and the next. Anytime the beam landed on a tree there was yet another face, each grinning like a clowder of Cheshire cats.
In unison, figures stepped away from the trunks. From head to toe they were the texture rough bark, except for those pale eyes. Malignant growths engulfed the skulls, twigs and branches sprouted from shoulders and necks, and some were even dappled with furry moss. Limping with crude joints bent at odd angles, they shuffled toward us.
A screaming Mr. McCann tore off through a narrow gap in the undergrowth. I rushed after him, unable to even think straight.
Waist-deep foliage encroached on both sides of the trail, right up to our ankles. I followed the burly man through a maze of sticks and spears as he barrelled ahead, faster than my legs could carry me.
Out of nowhere, he ground to a halt. As I caught up, the terrified man backstepped from more wooden people, too many to count. He spun on his heels, knocking me aside as he did, only to discover more closing in from behind, cutting off any hope of escape.
Tom choked out a weak, “Please, leave me alone. I’ll give you anything. Money. Jewellery.” He unclipped is Rolex and offered it as a gift. “I’ll never come back here. Please…just…”
Together, they moved forward, limbs outstretched. They were so close now. So very close.
As Mr. McCann’s foot caught on an exposed root, he collapsed backwards into the soil. All our tormenters came to a halt except for one, which continued on until it was close enough to reach out and touch a limb against Tom’s forehead.
On his hands and knees, he spun away, scrambling toward me across the tangled floor. Already his face had sprouted warts. No, not warts—saplings. Buds. The flesh of his cheeks and forehead bubbled, rapidly swelling in sections, while dark patches grew darker still across his neck, his forearms, his eyes, and even his lips. Paralyzed by fear, I could only watch.
Tears opened up along the sleeves of his tracksuit and ran up the shoulders, across the chest, and down the waist. In a matter of seconds Mr. McCann’s limbs became bloated and elongated. His clothes fell to the floor in tattered ruins.
Naked and deformed, he staggered to his feet and shuffled toward me, his screams now fading, his limbs stiff and awkward. Roots sprouted from his feet and grabbed the soil, biting deep, destroying any hope of forward progress. Through unmovable lips, he sputtered, “Help me…please.” Inside his mouth I saw a thick, green carpet.
Within seconds the man became indistinguishable from a small oak tree, one bough forever reaching forward, the branch lacing inches from my throat.
What broke me out of my trance was the sound of puking. Past the tree that had formerly been Mr. McCann, the wooden person that touched him puked up splinters and moss. It’s bark flaked and shed, exposing beige skin underneath. At the end of one limb, a fist opened and closed, revealing a human hand which then tore wood from a skull in huge chunks. Beneath these sections lay human features—nose, ears, lips. The human flexed and cried and gulped for air, a hatchling emerging from its shell.
I was so entranced by this hideous sight I didn’t notice the other wooden people had closed in. After six petrified backsteps, a low branch thicker than an amputated forearm stabbed the small of my lower back. I spun around, heart clawing against my chest, only to discover I’d reversed into the nearest wooden person.
I dropped onto the ground, head buried in my lap. “Please,” I whimpered. “I don’t want to be one of you. Please.”
Even then my thoughts were of Dad, and what he might have thought seeing his son cower in fear like that.
A hush fell over the forest. I took several short, shuddery inhales. That meant my lungs weren’t solid. Yet.
Slowly, I looked up. Wooden figures loomed over me, motionless. The closest one reeled away its limb.
“Let me through.” My father’s voice issued from within the crowd.
“Dad?” I cried.
Figures stepped apart, clearing a path he stepped through. “Ronan.”
I got up and rushed forward and threw myself into his arms, my cheeks wet with tears. “I dropped the torch, I’m sorry, I’m so—”
“Shush, it’s okay.” He put a warm hand on my shoulder, and my nerves eased.
“But Mr. McCann, he—”
“He’s completely fine.” Dad stepped aside. Past his shoulder, a new Mr. McCann pulled on spare clothes Dad brought in his pack.
A dry gulp seized my throat. “We need to run, we need to—”
“It’s okay, we’re not in any danger.” He pulled me in close. “You see son, there’s something you need to know about us. About how I know so much about this place. You and I, Ronan, we were among the first. Years ago, before you were old enough to even remember, our people realized we needed a way to protect ourselves, so I volunteered to go speak with the humans. But they wouldn’t listen. So now we’re pushing back. Against those who want to destroy our home.”
“We’re…we’re wooden people?”
Dad squeezed my hand.
“But what’ll happen to Mr. McCann?”
He gestured toward the tree that was once the real estate mogul. Any hiker who stumbled across it maybe would have made a casual remark about the vaguely human form, the warped portion of bough shaped vaguely like screaming face, forever etched in terror. You could practically hear the silent scream.
Tom McCann—the new Tom McCann—grabbed the discarded Rolex from the dirt and brushed it clean. He gave me a little smile and then clasped the watch around his wrist.
I squeezed dad’s hand even harder. “But couldn’t we have helped him? We could have explained—”
He shook his head. “If we transformed one hundred Tom McCanns, a hundred more would just pop up. We need to replace them, son. All of them, the humans. It’s like I said, the world is bleeding magic. And these flesh bags, they never learn. So, we’re taking over. Not just here, but everywhere. England, Germany, Spain, America.”
He kneeled down, brought himself eye level with me. “Are you ready, son? Will you help us protect this world?”
I brushed away my tears, a new hardness in my stomach. “I will, Dad. I will.”

39 years old 5’10", height and weight proportionate current dad bod in process of getting back on shape, heavily tattooed, long blonde hair which I call my lions mane when it’s not pulled back neat and presentable, blue grey eyes, free thinking realist seeking an organic connection. Typical attire is jeans and black shirt or button up with a pair of boots. I also rock an alternative /rocker vibe with backwards hat and t-shirts with jeans or shorts.
Genuine person who is career oriented (IT – 19 years and counting) with a house & car, old dog (Cane Corso) who is just looking to make connections. When I’m not working, I am busy working on my 1942 home; current project I just finished up replacing all boards on my 2nd story deck as well as the hand rails. Now I am working on replacing all the stairs (waiting on supplies from Lowes). Next project will be doing a dry pour patio. If I’m not working on my home, I enjoy staying in to cook / grill & have a fire in the back yard. Also I enjoy watching some Netflix, Sports – I’m a Cleveland fan (born and raised) UFC, I do get down on some PS5; games currently playing Modern Warfare/ Warzone regularly but also play all genres of games….. Why do you like being in the house …..All my stuff is here!
When not shackled down to the castle I enjoy hitting the beach all day with my canopy or umbrella and putting some music on with a cooler to make it an entire day adventure. I have recently gotten back into kayaking, so I have been doing that daily before work (I work second shift) when the weather permits. I prefer a dive bar over a club or something fancy. I enjoy grabbing a drink and a meal with a good conversation, I should start a food blog because I consider myself a foodie. Occasionally I enjoy an act of spontaneity and will pack a bag and go on an adventure or go do something active in nature.
I am straight that’s my preference so please don't try to catfish me or convince me, but I also don’t judge other lifestyles or preferences. I enjoy a good conversation but steer away from religion, politics, salary and controversial viewpoints until I know you as I deem them friendship killers. I am non-religious; however, I have a strong moral compass and ethics that allow me to respect everyone equally. As a veteran I am a president supporter; NO matter who is in the office, what that means is I respect the position, but I will not always agree with policies and views that they hold on certain topics. I mention these because it is valuable information for those who may be interested, no I won’t elaborate on them more until later when that vibe is there.
I’m 39 so the only games I play is board games or PS5. I believe people can disagree and still have discussions without one’s ego getting bruised. I believe that happiness is internal and is our own personal responsibility, the ones we allow into our lives are simply there to amplify our happiness; NOT responsible for making US happy. My love languages are physical touch & quality time, but I believe they are all important in balance.
IF you are down to talk or play some PS5 shoot me a message.

1. How will your tattoos look when your old; Cool as fuck so stop asking,
   
2. Did your tattoos hurt; No, they felt like puppy kisses (of course they hurt, it’s a needle penetrating your skin 100’s a time a minute.)
   
3. How many do you have: I don’t know, lost count
   

My song that summarizes me is Save me -Jelly Roll
Also, if you’re not willing to send pictures within a couple messages were not going to work out long term, even if it's just food or stuff around your house we live in the age of technology; use it 🤘

39 years old 5’10", height and weight proportionate current dad bod in process of getting back on shape, heavily tattooed, long blonde hair which I call my lions mane when it’s not pulled back neat and presentable, blue grey eyes, free thinking realist seeking an organic connection. Typical attire is jeans and black shirt or button up with a pair of boots. I also rock an alternative /rocker vibe with backwards hat and t-shirts with jeans or shorts. Pictures in profile.
Genuine person who is career oriented (IT – 19 years and counting) with a house & car, old dog (Cane Corso) who is just looking to make connections. When I’m not working, I am busy working on my 1942 home; current project I just finished up replacing all boards on my 2nd story deck as well as the hand rails. Now I am working on replacing all the stairs (waiting on supplies from Lowes). Next project will be doing a dry pour patio. If I’m not working on my home, I enjoy staying in to cook / grill & have a fire in the back yard. Also I enjoy watching some Netflix, Sports – I’m a Cleveland fan (born and raised) UFC, I do get down on some PS5; games currently playing Modern Warfare/ Warzone regularly but also play all genres of games….. Why do you like being in the house …..All my stuff is here!
When not shackled down to the castle I enjoy hitting the beach all day with my canopy or umbrella and putting some music on with a cooler to make it an entire day adventure. I have recently gotten back into kayaking, so I have been doing that daily before work (I work second shift) when the weather permits. I prefer a dive bar over a club or something fancy. I enjoy grabbing a drink and a meal with a good conversation, I should start a food blog because I consider myself a foodie. Occasionally I enjoy an act of spontaneity and will pack a bag and go on an adventure or go do something active in nature.
I am straight that’s my preference so please don't try to catfish me or convince me, but I also don’t judge other lifestyles or preferences. I enjoy a good conversation but steer away from religion, politics, salary and controversial viewpoints until I know you as I deem them friendship killers. I am non-religious; however, I have a strong moral compass and ethics that allow me to respect everyone equally. As a veteran I am a president supporter; NO matter who is in the office, what that means is I respect the position, but I will not always agree with policies and views that they hold on certain topics. I mention these because it is valuable information for those who may be interested, no I won’t elaborate on them more until later when that vibe is there.
I’m 39 so the only games I play is board games or PS5. I believe people can disagree and still have discussions without one’s ego getting bruised. I believe that happiness is internal and is our own personal responsibility, the ones we allow into our lives are simply there to amplify our happiness; NOT responsible for making US happy. My love languages are physical touch & quality time, but I believe they are all important in balance.
IF you are down to talk or play some PS5 shoot me a message.

1. How will your tattoos look when your old; Cool as fuck so stop asking,
   
2. Did your tattoos hurt; No, they felt like puppy kisses (of course they hurt, it’s a needle penetrating your skin 100’s a time a minute.)
   
3. How many do you have: I don’t know, lost count
   

My song that summarizes me is Save me -Jelly Roll
Also, if you’re not willing to send pictures within a couple messages were not going to work out long term, even if it's just food or stuff around your house we live in the age of technology; use it 🤘