Podcasts about God king

Tom Walker (Tom Walker: Very, Very) joins the lads for his very first trip to Odyssey as they cover adventures in shock-jock DJing, international espionage, and the return of everybody's favorite encyclopedia writing, ice-cream selling, NSA asset/God King of Odyssey: John Avery Whittaker. Topics include biblical trading cards, the logistics of owning a beef jerky co-op, and how to make propaganda that doesn't inspire a life-long obsession with hunting down heretical texts.   Tom Walker: Bluesky // Instagram // Twitch // Youtube   Tom Walker: Very, Very: A love letter to mime (and to a coat) written by award-winning idiot Tom Walker, who keeps talking during what he insists is a mime show. Available to Stream on Amazon   Bigsofttitty.png: Demi Lardner and Tom Walker are doing this and no-one can stop them. This is a podcast for no cowards. Available on Spotify // Apple Podcasts   Media Referenced in this Episode: Adventures in Odyssey #313: “Top This!” #355-357: “The Search for Whit, Parts 1-3"   TWOAPW theme by Brendan Dalton: Patreon // brendan-dalton.com // brendandalton.bandcamp.com   Interstitial: “A Series of Voicemails Left on Mary Mulligan's Answering Machine by One Melvin Mulligan, Her Brother and Composer of Corporate Jingles” // Written by A.J. Ditty // Featuring Eleanor Philips as “Mary Mulligan” and A.J. Ditty as “Melvin Mulligan” // Piano Cover of Fleetwood Mac's “The Chain” by Gleesinnpiano

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It is the final night before the party execute their grand plan to rid the world of the villanous God King.  In a world where magic is as unpredictable as the wind, a group of heroes are thrust into a battle for control of the mysterious Spellwind. This show explores the impact of unchecked power, the burdens of fate, and the true meaning of heroism. Perfect for fans of epic storytelling, rich world-building, and tabletop role-playing games. Want more Spellwind? Join our Discord to chat with other fans and the cast. Want more Tablestory? We've got you covered with our ever expanding, multi genre library!Love what we do? You can support the show by grabbing some merch or backing us directly to keep the dice rolling.And as always, thanks for listening. ♥

Out on the open sea, barely escaping the closing fist of the God King's Sworn, the party must now sail out and prepare their next move.  In a world where magic is as unpredictable as the wind, a group of heroes are thrust into a battle for control of the mysterious Spellwind. This show explores the impact of unchecked power, the burdens of fate, and the true meaning of heroism. Perfect for fans of epic storytelling, rich world-building, and tabletop role-playing games. Want more Spellwind? Join our Discord to chat with other fans and the cast. Want more Tablestory? We've got you covered with our ever expanding, multi genre library!Love what we do? You can support the show by grabbing some merch or backing us directly to keep the dice rolling.And as always, thanks for listening. ♥

Many people do not put their full trust and faith in God because they don't know if He will be good to them. Many people see God drom the vantage point of a savage world. But the Bible tells us something much different about God. Until we learn eho He is, it will be difficult to trust Him or believe that He is working on our behalf but learning to trust God will help you heal your trust wounds and relax into the arms of the one who made you and who possesses an everlasting love for you. || Support LoveWalk here or at paypal.me/lelawinston get FREE print Bible studies at LoveWalk.substack.com || God Bless You! ♡♡♡ --- Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/lela-winston/support

In this episode, we discuss the recent X space co-hosted by Garrett with Peter Levenda, explore the alien panopticon concept laid out in Sekret Machines: War, and analyze John Keel's ultraterrestrial god-king system hypothesis.

On this week's episode of Sportsfeld Storytime, we wrap up our look back at the Roy Halladay/AJ Burnett duel of 2009. This week, we're remembering the Roy Halladay trade, which saw him leave Toronto and head to Philadelphia where he would, of course, throw a no-hitter in his first playoff appearance. We then look back at Life After Doc, as Alex Anthopolous makes his first moves as GM, Jose Bautista becomes The God King, and Brett Lawrie leaps his way into our hearts.Sick of hearing all the ads? Subscribe to Soda Premium on Apple Podcasts to get rid of them!Follow @Sportsfeld on X! While you're there say hello to @theZubes and @JGoldsbie or reach out to the show and say hey: podcast@sportsfeld.caIf merch is your thing, be sure to check out the store: http://bit.ly/merchfeldIf you enjoyed today's show, please rate Sportsfeld 5-Stars on Apple Podcasts.And as always, thank you for listening to another episode of Sportsfeld.

Imagine a world in which the same earth you walk had been populated by Gods in years past. These deities may have had bull's tails, or the heads of falcons, held massive whips, or possessed the moon in their left eye. This was the belief system of the Ancient Egyptians, who saw their Kings and Queens as direct descandents of these divinities, and founders of human society. The Pharaoh ruled not only by divine right, but as a direct heir of these Gods. I sat down with Amanda Dunsmore, Senior Curator, International Decorative Arts and Antiquities at the National Gallery of Victoria. She heads up the monumental exhibition Pharaoh: a landmark in the collected display of treasures from Ancient Egypt.  On view now, Amanda talked me through the myth and iconography of some of the more than 500 objects–including towering sculptures, statues that graced ancient temples, coffins, and of course jewellery–which immerse visitors in the world of the ancient pharaohs.  Tickets here. Cleopatra's Bling jewellery is now stocked in the NGV Design Store, including exclusive pieces designed as a celebration of the Pharaoh exhibition, referencing some of the symbols we spoke about in this episode. – Shop Latest Discover Bespoke This episode was live-recorded Wurundjeri country. Cleopatra's Bling Podcast was produced by Zoltan Fecso and the CB team. Original music by Cameron Alva. 

Send us a textThis video explores the spiritual and supernatural elements of King Philip's War, a 17th century brutal conflict between Algonquin Native American tribes of southeastern New England and English colonists. It focuses on the religious paradigms on both sides which greatly influenced the sociopolitical landscape.  From Puritan humiliation rites to native shamanism/ witchcraft, we shed light on the fascinating and sometimes terrifying beliefs and rituals which informed a symbolically cosmic war, a battle between gods and spirits which would decide the fate of the wilderness continent and everyone living in the “new world” of America.#occult #magick #paranormal Support the Show.All episodes are available in video format on YouTube Send your personal experiences (spiritual, paranormal), questions, comments, or business inquiries to: hiddenpassagepodcast@gmail.comYou can also send a voice message through SpeakPipeFollow on Instagram & TwitterPlease consider rating/ leaving a review. Thank you for your support!

In this brand new episode, join me as I delve into the extravagant world of King Louis XIV and his love for towering wigs.Discover how his fashion-forward obsession sparked a hair-raising trend that swept across 17th-century Europe, influencing everyone from kings to us mere commoners!Get ready for a fascinating journey into the world of opulent hairstyles and uncover the lasting impact of the Sun King's flamboyant fashion. Are. You. Ready?***************Article Mentioned:This French king took men's hair to new heightsWritten By: Barbara Rosillohttps://www.nationalgeographic.com/premium/article/big-hair-wigs-louis-xiv-mens-fashion#:~:text=Giant%20wigs%20were%20a%20must,all%20over%2017th%2Dcentury%20Europe***************Leave Us a 5* Rating, it helps the show!Apple Podcast:https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/beauty-unlocked-the-podcast/id1522636282Spotify Podcast:https://open.spotify.com/show/37MLxC8eRob1D0ZcgcCorA****************Follow Us on Social Media & Subscribe to our YouTube Channel!Instagram:instagram.com/beauty_unlockeds_podcast_hourTikTok:tiktok.com/@beautyunlockedthepodYouTube:@beautyunlockedspodcasthour****************Intro/Outro Music:Music by Savvier from Fugue FAME INC This podcast uses the following third-party services for analysis: Chartable - https://chartable.com/privacy

For this season of TSFU Presents, we are highlighting some of the worst of the worst of Yucky Yogis.  This episode is a throwback from way back when in Season 2, in 2020...  we were such babies!!Ash and Cam dive into two different cults for your listening pleasure! Ash talks about the Buddhafield cult and its leader Jaime Gomez aka Michel aka Andreas aka Reyji (or God King), who started off as a small time gay porn actor. And Cam covers Order of the Solar Temple, a super secret society whose founders drew inspiration from different UFO, Doomsday and New Age cults, making sure they hit all the bases.The gals also discuss some of the very relatable reasons that people join cults, and how the leaders control members.TW: sexual assault✨If you wanna get your TSFU episodes ad free and on Tuesdays instead of Fridays, check out our Patreon! You get access to over 200 episodes that aren't on the regular feed, and you'd like them all ad free, join our Patreon for as little as $5 a month! There is actually now a new FREE version that you can try with no commitment!

We are now in the first pasuk of Perek Shira, Shamayim Omrim / What do the Heavens say? They say a pasuk in Tehilim , 19,2: הַשָּׁמַיִם מְסַפְּרִים כְּבוֹד אֵל וּמַעֲשֵׂה יָדָיו מַגִּיד הָרָקִיעַ: (תהילים יט ב) / The Heavens tell of the glory of God and the rest of God's handiwork is said over by the Rakia Rashi says that David Hamelech explains in a following pasuk , אֵֽין־אֹ֭מֶר וְאֵ֣ין דְּבָרִ֑ים / There are no words , meaning that when we say Hashamayim Misaprim/The Heavens tell -it's speaking without words. This means that when we, the creation, see what's going on in the Heavens, we will speak about it. הַשָּׁמַיִם מְסַפְּר ִים כְּבוֹד /The wonders of the heavens will cause us, down here, to speak about the heavens. Rashi says every day we make the Beracha of Yotzer Hameorot/ God Who creates the luminaries. Rav Wolbe says that Rav Yerucham Levovitz once asked his students, If the sun is so great, why don't we make a Baracha on the sun ? Good question! And he explained that we do! Yotzer Hameorot- every morning, we make a blessing on the sun . That is the Shamayim Misaprim Kavod El / The heavens tell of the glory of God And וּמַעֲשֵׂה יָדָיו מַגִּיד הָרָקִיעַ /the stars and the mazalot which are the handiwork of God are also going to speak and praise God. So, according to this simple approach, we, down here are praising God, and the song of the heavens is our song due to the heavens. But others explain based on a pasuk in Yehoshua 10,12, where it says, אָ֣ז יְדַבֵּ֤ר יְהוֹשֻׁעַ֙ לַֽיהֹוָ֔ה /Yehoshua spoke on that day when he won the war… שֶׁ֚ מֶשׁ ב ְּגִבְע֣וֹן דּ֔וֹם לה׳ / Let the sun in Givon ( be) Dom to Hashem ” Rashi says dom ,' means simply to wait for Hashem. So basically, the sun stopped , but the word dom also means to be quiet like Vayidom Aharon - so it can also mean that Yehoshua told the sun to stop singing . And once the sun stopped singing, that caused it to stop moving. The Chida says on our pasuk that the sun and all the celestial beings can only move through the song that they sing, and the proof is from Yehoshua. This is actually a Midrash Tanhuma , quoted by the Reshit Chochma, which says, מִמִּזְרַח־שֶׁ֥מֶשׁ עַד־מְבוֹא֑וֹ מְ֝הֻלָּ֗ל שֵׁ֣ם יְהֹוָֽה׃ / from the East, where the sun rises as it goes. God's name is praised . The Midrash explains that from the time the sun rises, until the sun sets, the sun is singing songs. T hat is what it means that Yehoshua told the sun to be silent , because what charges the sun is its Shira . That's a mussar for us. The human being also is like the sun. The Midrash says, when it talks about man being an Olam Katan/A miniature world, that our two eyes are referred to as the sun, the light of our eyes. That means a person's ability to shine comes from the songs that he sings, like the sun. There are two important lessons from this pasuk, based on the two ways to read it. One is that we, down here, must appreciate the songs of the sky. We have to look up into the heavens. It says in the pasuk, “ שְׂ אוּ־ מָ ר֨וֹם עֵ ינֵיכֶ֤ם / lift up to the heavens, your eyes…. and see Who created this .” The first letter of each word spells out Shema שמע And it says, when you say Shema you're supposed to first look into creation. Most people don't realize this, but every single morning, in our praise of Shaharit , we first talk about the sun and moon and the celestial beings, and then we say, Shema Yisrael. We have to make God King over all the heavens. But in order to do that, we first have to appreciate that there are heavens, that there is a sun, there is a moon, there are stars, and they are singing the songs of God, the precision of all those celestial beings. That's the הַשָּׁמַיִם מְסַפְּרִים כְּבוֹד אֵל וּמַעֲשֵׂה יָדָיו מַגִּיד הָרָקִיעַ: This is the first of our daily dose of Perek Shira , and we have just fulfilled the concept of, Whoever involves themself in Perek Shira/ every day is zoche…to all kinds of wonderful things.

Feedback? Send us a text! (note: we can't reply to texts. For a reply, please email us at biblebrief@biblelit.org) The book of Isaiah includes the prophet's vision of God seated upon his throne in the heavenly temple. A priest-king who also stoops to become the suffering servant of God to take punishment for sin.Read along with the story. Today we're reading Isaiah 6, 52-53.Thank you to our generous patrons who makes this show possible. The Bible Brief is listener-supported and brought to you by the Bible Literacy Foundation, dedicated to helping people like you learn the Bible. Looking for more? Check out our website at biblelit.org.Support the Show.Support the show: Tap here to become a monthly supporter!Review the show: Tap here!Want to go deeper?...Download the PRISM Bible App!iPhone: App Store LinkAndroid: Play Store LinkWebsite: biblelit.orgInstagram: @biblelitTwitter: @bible_litFacebook: @biblelitEmail the Show: biblebrief@biblelit.orgThis episode primarily uses the ESV Bible translation, but may also use CSB, NASB, and NKJV.Search Tags: bible, beginner, bible verse, god, verse of the day, prayer, jesus, bible study, scripture, learn, bible introduction, introduction, intro to the bible, introduction to the bible, beginner bible, bible overview, how to read the bible, what is the bible about, bible story, bible stories, what is the bible, bible study, walkthrough, bible walk...

It used to be about small government and lower taxes and now it's about dismantling our democracy and making everyone except billions suffer in a failed state

In the first century BC, the Roman Republic is expanding rapidly across the Mediterranean basin. As the legions venture eastward into Anatolia, the Romans are able to divide and conquer all of their enemies, except for one: Mithridates VI of Pontus, also known as the Poison King.   Mithridates is more than a mere historical figure; he's a mythic hero, born under the sign of a shooting star and nearly murdered by his own mother before spending much of his youth in the wilderness. These details may sound made up, but truth is often stranger than fiction, and the story of Mithridates is one of the strangest ever told.   Map of Anatolia during Mithridates' reign: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/b/b0/Asia_Minor_in_the_Greco-Roman_period_-_general_map_-_regions_and_main_settlements.jpg   My Interview with Sean McFadden of Deep Noetics: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eecCdz7cbug   SUBSCRIBE TO RELEVANT HISTORY, AND NEVER MISS AN EPISODE! Relevant History Patreon: https://bit.ly/3vLeSpF Subscribe on Spotify: https://spoti.fi/38bzOvo Subscribe on Apple Music (iTunes): https://apple.co/2SQnw4q Subscribe on Any Platform: https://bit.ly/RelHistSub   Relevant History on Twitter/X: https://bit.ly/3eRhdtk Relevant History on Facebook: https://bit.ly/2Qk05mm Official website: https://bit.ly/3btvha4   Episode transcript (90% accurate): https://docs.google.com/document/d/e/2PACX-1vRmqvP5OKsISkJeh798lUhzBaublU3RwXtQJm78gx0jBSn5i5rM7PlmXIC7RXxs2G6bjymLQKKX8Kgn/pub Music credit: Sergey Cheremisinov - Black Swan   SOURCES: Appian: https://www.livius.org/sources/content/appian/appian-the-mithridatic-wars/ Cassius Dio: https://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/E/Roman/Texts/Cassius_Dio/home.html Justin: https://www.attalus.org/translate/justin6.html#37.1 Livy: https://oll.libertyfund.org/titles/baker-the-history-of-rome-vol-6 (Livy's work on Mithridates is lost. Only a summary remains.) Philip Matyszak, Mithridates the Great, Rome's Indomitable Enemy: https://www.everand.com/read/444975669/Mithridates-the-Great-Rome-s-Indomitable-Enemy Adrienne Mayor, The Poison King, the Life and Legend of Mithradates, Rome's Deadliest Enemy Valerius Maximus: http://attalus.org/info/valerius.html Brian McGing, The Foreign Policy of Mithridates VI Eupator, King of Pontus: https://archive.org/details/foreignpolicyofm0000mcgi/page/n13/mode/2up Brian McGing (Encyclopaedia Iranica article on Pontus): https://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/pontus Plutarch's Parallel Lives:                 -Sulla https://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/E/Roman/Texts/Plutarch/Lives/Sulla*.html                 -Lucullus https://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/E/Roman/Texts/Plutarch/Lives/Lucullus*.html                 -Pompey https://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/E/Roman/Texts/Plutarch/Lives/Pompey*.html                 -Sertorius https://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/E/Roman/Texts/Plutarch/Lives/Sertorius*.html Rank-Raglan mythotype and scores: https://everything.explained.today/Rank%E2%80%93Raglan_mythotype/ Laurence M. V. Totelin (study on antidote): https://www.jstor.org/stable/4130095?read-now=1&seq=1#page_scan_tab_contents

Covenant Presbyterian Church (The Barn)

1 Samuel 24:1-25:1 | Geoff Jelley12 May 2024

########b: A collection of unseen moments from Season 4, concerning the rise and fall of the God King.  Starring Mike Kennedy as Edgar Morrison, Adrian Gibbs as Adrian Briggs, and Jesse Steele as Bill Tyler, with original music by Jesse Haugen. Written by Van Winkle and Virginia Spotts and produced by Virginia Spotts, with dialogue editing and sound design by Van Winkle. Episode Transcript: https://homesteadonthecorner.files.wordpress.com/2024/04/deletedscenes02_transcript.pdf For more information and additional content, visit thesheridantapes.com Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Many people's conception of the Christian gospel goes something like this... 2000 years ago, a man named Jesus came from heaven to earth. He lived a good life, performs miracles. But then he died on the cross for the forgiveness of sins. And then he was placed in a grave. Three days later, he got up out of that grave and he returned to heaven, where now he is waiting to someday come back again. And if you believe that in your heart, then you too will get to go to this magical place called heaven when you die. And so pray this prayer. Believe it in your heart and you'll get to go to heaven when you die. Oh, and then p.s., P.S. if you've got like, time for it. Be kind to other people and like if it fits in your schedule, like go to church and eat all the chick fil A, you can and you know, like, don't watch rated our movies unless they're unless it's the passion of the Christ. In this series and sermon we want to propose for you today that Christianity is infinitely better than just getting your ticket to heaven punched. Christianity is exponentially more thrilling and exciting and interesting and robust and relevant and practical and ever expanding and all encompassing than you could ever imagine. We'd love for you to subscribe to our channel and turn on notifications to get updates on our latest content and resources that will help more people know Jesus and people know Jesus more. GIVE : We believe that generosity is golden. Freely we have received and so freely we give back to God. If you would like to give to support the work Jesus is doing here please visit: https://www.elevatecc.church/give. Elevate City Church is a Jesus Over Everything Church that launched in the Atlanta Perimeter area on October 4th, 2020. Jesus Over Everything. Give us a follow on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/elevatecity.church/ Like us on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/elevatecc.church Podcast on Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/3H8BBrEFWxGKsTF8wPSvrn?si=epcQMMrmQIiTpeXEnyxMOQ Podcast on itunes: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/elevate-city-church/id1536637567 Visit our website for more information about who we are as a church and how you can get involved. https://www.elevatecc.church/home

Mar 24 | Ray Hughes | Worship Center, Fry Road  The Foundry Methodist Church, Houston TX  At Foundry we believe God has called us to be a movement of people committed to helping everyone know, follow and share Jesus. This series invites us to discover a deeper participation in that mission!  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  Used with Permission - CCLI Copyright License Number #855120 Streaming Plus License Number #21172413

SLIDE APOSTOLIC EXILES - Violent Then & Now AttacksMatthew 11:12 (ESV) From the days of John the Baptist until now the kingdom of heaven has suffered violence, and the violent take it by force.biazo: forceful behavior intended to hurt, damage, or kill someone/somethingThe Kingdom of Heaven:Established Eternally, Extended to EarthUnknown Events Brought Chaos To Kingdom On EarthEarth Was Reformed With A Renewed Kingdom PresenceAdam Was Heaven's Apostle To Colonize EarthThe Other Kingdom's King Attacked The Kingdom/GardenSATAN'S VISIT WAS NOT AN OPPORTUNISTIC TRICK. It was an intensely violent attack against the Kingdom's Presence on Earth, the Kingdom's Apostolic Leader, the Kingdom's Citizens, the Kingdom's Mission on Earth, and ultimately the King Himself.IT'S THE SAME VIOLENT ATTACK. YOU ARE ADAM.7 Then & Now Violent Attacks“In the beginning, God” the violent attack against the reality of God/His KingdomNotice it's an attack on The God, not on all gods.Culture shows respect all religions except ChristianityIn HR Hirings, there tends to be a welcoming of anything outside of Christianity Fashionable to attack Judaism/Christianity - protestsIf Christians protest anything - white extremistsMock Jesus, but not Allah or Muhammad his prophetNo limit to using Jesus as a curse wordMental Health Facilities - people cursing JesusWe are to establish the reality of God/His Kingdom in our world.“And God said, “Let there be…” the violent attack on the creative work of God to establish Heaven/EarthThis attack started with the introduction of Darwinism into the school system in the late 1800's. Traditionally, science was taught from a Biblical creation perspective. During WW1 there was another push, and many states made it illegal to teach evolution. In 1968 the U.S. The Supreme Court overturned the laws that had banned the teaching of evolution and most schools leaned into the “Equal Time” approach. The issue was again examined by the U. S. Supreme Court in the 1980's where the courts determined 1) Creation Science is religion; 2) to teach religion in the public schools is illegal; and 3) Creation Science is not science... They ignore the scientific reality of Mathematical Impossibility: right time, place, chemicals, for us to have the exact gravity to stick to earth, but not so much that our blood isn't trapped in our ankles.Science ignored - Laws of Entropy - most evolution tends to deformity not improvementIntelligent Design is completely ignoredFossils are covered in the Gap TheoryWe are to continue to establish the creative work of God here on earth as we take dominion.“He said to the woman…”The violent attack on God's Apostles, representatives of His Kingdom created to take ground from the other Kingdom.While all people are under siege, God's Apostolic people are alway under attackAdam, The Lineage Of Abraham, The Jewish Nation, Christianity.It's subtle but it's tangible.Pandemic:Bars/strip clubs were open, church gatherings closed.Casinos were open, prayer meetings were not allowed.Football players on the field, churches finedHistorical Attacks: Foxe's Book of MartyrsToday Attacks: The Voice of the Martyrshttps://www.iamnevent.com/?_source_code=GSA24B1&gad_source=1&gclid=CjwKCAiA2pyuBhBKEiwApLaIO0HIap-oCBLzgKQ1d4jyh99O_fJYa5JqjNoFFLrGyA25YlBTJBqwpRoCjfgQAvD_BwEFree online event March 8, 8PMDietrich Bonhoeffer was a German protestant pastor and theologian known for his opposition to National Socialism and treatment of Jews. Initially he was silent, but when pastors were required to agree to Nazi propaganda in the pulpits, he left Germany to be safe and to attend the Union Theological Seminary in New York.“I have come to the conclusion that I made a mistake in coming to America this time. I must live through this difficult period in our national history along with the people of Germany. I will have no right to participate in the reconstruction of Christian life in Germany after the war if I do not share the trials of this time with my people ... Christians in Germany will have to face the terrible alternative of either willing the defeat of their nation in order that a future Christian civilization may survive, or else willing the victory of their nation and thereby destroying our civilization and any true Christianity. I know which of these alternatives I must choose but I cannot make that choice from a place of security.Aa man who saw the execution: I saw Pastor Bonhoeffer... kneeling on the floor praying fervently to God. I was most deeply moved by the way this lovable man prayed, so devout and so certain that God heard his prayer. At the place of execution, he again said a short prayer and then climbed the few steps to the gallows, brave and composed. His death ensued after a few seconds. In the almost fifty years that I worked as a doctor, I have hardly ever seen a man die so entirely submissive to the will of God.Later he was convicted for his ties to the July 20, 1944, conspiracy to overthrow the Nazi regime led to his execution in 1945. His theological writings are regarded as classics throughout the Christian world.We will openly confront social and political propaganda from the pulpit.We refuse to repeat lies, even if our safety comes into play.We will refuse to participate in social activities that are wrong:No forced Vaccine or Vaccine ChecksNuremberg medical trials 1946: never again use humans as medical lab-ratsHelmuth Vetter, an Auschwitz camp physician, SS captain and employee of the Bayer group within IG Farben conducted medical experiments on inmates at Auschwitz and at the Mauthausen concentration camp. In one study of an anaesthetic, the company paid for the use of 150 female inmates of Auschwitz. A Bayer employee wrote to Rudolf Höss, the Auschwitz commandant: "The transport of 150 women arrived in good condition. However, we were unable to obtain conclusive results because they died during the experiments. We would kindly request that you send us another group of women to the same number and at the same price.As God's Apostles, representatives of His Kingdom, we need to continue to take ground from the other Kingdom.“Did God actually say” the violent attack focused on reading, possessing, and declaring God/King's WordWhy is the Bible so heavily mocked and every other publication promotedWhy do our schools carry sexually charged materials for 5th graders and if we demand their removal, we are book banners, but many schools have removed only bibles, and students with bibles must have them covered. Religious apparel is not allowed but Pride Day has turned into Pride Year. Students are required to participate and pledge to the pride flagWe need to continue reading, possessing, and declaring God/King's Word in the world,“God created man in his image… male and female The violent attack on God implanted identity attack on God's role in conceptionThe premise that it is just a biologyThe attack on identityGod's image bearerApostolic purposeThe reality of male/femaleGender confusion shows up through many different vehicles but those are disguises. It's always an attack on the KingdomThe beauty of complementary roles of man womanMark‬ ‭10‬:‭6‬ ‭NIV ‬‬”“But at the beginning of creation God ‘made them male and female.'“Removal of male and female is an attack on Kingdom“Man shall leave his father and his mother and hold fast to his wife, and they shall become one flesh.”the violent attack against covenantal marriageFree SexualityIssue of 50's - pregnancyIssue of 80's - AIDSIssue all along - demons1 Corinthians 6:16–19 (ESV) Or do you not know that he who is joined to a prostitute becomes one body with her? For, as it is written, “The two will become one flesh.” But he who is joined to the Lord becomes one spirit with him. Flee from sexual immorality. Every other sin a person commits is outside the body, but the sexually immoral person sins against his own body. Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God? You are not your own,One of the greatest areas of onboarding demonic activity is sexuality, especially traumatic (forced) sexualityGuard your sexuality - you have only one gift of virginity to give to anotherFailure To Marry This was a route I had full intentions to pursue. Proverbs 18:22 (ESV) He who finds a wife finds a good thing and obtains favor from the LORD.Not every marriage is covenantal marriageCivil unions are not Biblical MarriagesBiblical-Covenantal Marriage is an agreement between three entitiesMark‬ 10‬:‭7‬-‭9‬ ‭NIV‬‬ ”‘For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh.' So they are no longer two, but one flesh. Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate.”“Ecclesiastes 4:9–12 (NIV) Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor: If either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up. Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone? Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.Malachi 2:13–16 (MSG) And here's a second offense: You fill the place of worship with your whining and sniveling because you don't get what you want from GOD. Do you know why? Simple. Because GOD was there as a witness when you spoke your marriage vows to your young bride, and now you've broken those vows, broken the faith-bond with your vowed companion, your covenant wife. GOD, not you, made marriage. His Spirit inhabits even the smallest details of marriage. And what does he want from marriage? Children of God, that's what. So guard the spirit of marriage within you. Don't cheat on your spouse. “I hate divorce,” says the GOD of Israel. GOD-of-the-Angel-Armies says, “I hate the violent dismembering of the ‘one flesh' of marriage.” So watch yourselves. Don't let your guard down. Don't cheat.Divorce -‭‭ Mark‬ ‭10‬:‭10‬-‭12‬ ‭NIV‬‬ ”When they were in the house again, the disciples asked Jesus about this. He answered, “Anyone who divorces his wife and marries another woman commits adultery against her. And if she divorces her husband and marries another man, she commits adultery.”““Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth the violent attack against procreation that has defined Kingdom purposesThe attack comes in all sorts of disguises but ultimately this is the most violent attack of all attacks.Violence focused on God's Apostles before they have their intended impact.Violence via: abortion or miscarriageAbortion is modern day Molech worship: the promise of a better life if we kill the child.Having kids is viewed as as negative, large families are mocked, traditionally celebratedLIES: the earth can't support itLIES: what kind of evil brings a child into this sufferingLIES: we can't afford thatPloy to keep kingdom expansion limited‭‭Mark‬ ‭10‬:‭14‬-‭16‬ ‭NIV‬‬”When Jesus saw this, he was indignant. He said to them, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.” And he took the children in his arms, placed his hands on them and blessed them.“Malachi 2:13–16 (MSG) And here's a second offense: You fill the place of worship with your whining and sniveling because you don't get what you want from GOD. Do you know why? Simple. Because GOD was there as a witness when you spoke your marriage vows to your young bride, and now you've broken those vows, broken the faith-bond with your vowed companion, your covenant wife. GOD, not you, made marriage. His Spirit inhabits even the smallest details of marriage. And what does he want from marriage? Children of God, that's what. So guard the spirit of marriage within you. Don't cheat on your spouse. “I hate divorce,” says the GOD of Israel. GOD-of-the-Angel-Armies says, “I hate the violent dismembering of the ‘one flesh' of marriage.” So watch yourselves. Don't let your guard down. Don't cheat

SLIDE APOSTOLIC EXILES - Violent Then & Now AttacksMatthew 11:12 (ESV) From the days of John the Baptist until now the kingdom of heaven has suffered violence, and the violent take it by force.biazo: forceful behavior intended to hurt, damage, or kill someone/somethingThe Kingdom of Heaven:Established Eternally, Extended to EarthUnknown Events Brought Chaos To Kingdom On EarthEarth Was Reformed With A Renewed Kingdom PresenceAdam Was Heaven's Apostle To Colonize EarthThe Other Kingdom's King Attacked The Kingdom/GardenSATAN'S VISIT WAS NOT AN OPPORTUNISTIC TRICK. It was an intensely violent attack against the Kingdom's Presence on Earth, the Kingdom's Apostolic Leader, the Kingdom's Citizens, the Kingdom's Mission on Earth, and ultimately the King Himself.IT'S THE SAME VIOLENT ATTACK. YOU ARE ADAM.7 Then & Now Violent Attacks“In the beginning, God” the violent attack against the reality of God/His KingdomNotice it's an attack on The God, not on all gods.Culture shows respect all religions except ChristianityIn HR Hirings, there tends to be a welcoming of anything outside of Christianity Fashionable to attack Judaism/Christianity - protestsIf Christians protest anything - white extremistsMock Jesus, but not Allah or Muhammad his prophetNo limit to using Jesus as a curse wordMental Health Facilities - people cursing JesusWe are to establish the reality of God/His Kingdom in our world.“And God said, “Let there be…” the violent attack on the creative work of God to establish Heaven/EarthThis attack started with the introduction of Darwinism into the school system in the late 1800's. Traditionally, science was taught from a Biblical creation perspective. During WW1 there was another push, and many states made it illegal to teach evolution. In 1968 the U.S. The Supreme Court overturned the laws that had banned the teaching of evolution and most schools leaned into the “Equal Time” approach. The issue was again examined by the U. S. Supreme Court in the 1980's where the courts determined 1) Creation Science is religion; 2) to teach religion in the public schools is illegal; and 3) Creation Science is not science... They ignore the scientific reality of Mathematical Impossibility: right time, place, chemicals, for us to have the exact gravity to stick to earth, but not so much that our blood isn't trapped in our ankles.Science ignored - Laws of Entropy - most evolution tends to deformity not improvementIntelligent Design is completely ignoredFossils are covered in the Gap TheoryWe are to continue to establish the creative work of God here on earth as we take dominion.“He said to the woman…”The violent attack on God's Apostles, representatives of His Kingdom created to take ground from the other Kingdom.While all people are under siege, God's Apostolic people are alway under attackAdam, The Lineage Of Abraham, The Jewish Nation, Christianity.It's subtle but it's tangible.Pandemic:Bars/strip clubs were open, church gatherings closed.Casinos were open, prayer meetings were not allowed.Football players on the field, churches finedHistorical Attacks: Foxe's Book of MartyrsToday Attacks: The Voice of the Martyrshttps://www.iamnevent.com/?_source_code=GSA24B1&gad_source=1&gclid=CjwKCAiA2pyuBhBKEiwApLaIO0HIap-oCBLzgKQ1d4jyh99O_fJYa5JqjNoFFLrGyA25YlBTJBqwpRoCjfgQAvD_BwEFree online event March 8, 8PMDietrich Bonhoeffer was a German protestant pastor and theologian known for his opposition to National Socialism and treatment of Jews. Initially he was silent, but when pastors were required to agree to Nazi propaganda in the pulpits, he left Germany to be safe and to attend the Union Theological Seminary in New York.“I have come to the conclusion that I made a mistake in coming to America this time. I must live through this difficult period in our national history along with the people of Germany. I will have no right to participate in the reconstruction of Christian life in Germany after the war if I do not share the trials of this time with my people ... Christians in Germany will have to face the terrible alternative of either willing the defeat of their nation in order that a future Christian civilization may survive, or else willing the victory of their nation and thereby destroying our civilization and any true Christianity. I know which of these alternatives I must choose but I cannot make that choice from a place of security.Aa man who saw the execution: I saw Pastor Bonhoeffer... kneeling on the floor praying fervently to God. I was most deeply moved by the way this lovable man prayed, so devout and so certain that God heard his prayer. At the place of execution, he again said a short prayer and then climbed the few steps to the gallows, brave and composed. His death ensued after a few seconds. In the almost fifty years that I worked as a doctor, I have hardly ever seen a man die so entirely submissive to the will of God.Later he was convicted for his ties to the July 20, 1944, conspiracy to overthrow the Nazi regime led to his execution in 1945. His theological writings are regarded as classics throughout the Christian world.We will openly confront social and political propaganda from the pulpit.We refuse to repeat lies, even if our safety comes into play.We will refuse to participate in social activities that are wrong:No forced Vaccine or Vaccine ChecksNuremberg medical trials 1946: never again use humans as medical lab-ratsHelmuth Vetter, an Auschwitz camp physician, SS captain and employee of the Bayer group within IG Farben conducted medical experiments on inmates at Auschwitz and at the Mauthausen concentration camp. In one study of an anaesthetic, the company paid for the use of 150 female inmates of Auschwitz. A Bayer employee wrote to Rudolf Höss, the Auschwitz commandant: "The transport of 150 women arrived in good condition. However, we were unable to obtain conclusive results because they died during the experiments. We would kindly request that you send us another group of women to the same number and at the same price.As God's Apostles, representatives of His Kingdom, we need to continue to take ground from the other Kingdom.“Did God actually say” the violent attack focused on reading, possessing, and declaring God/King's WordWhy is the Bible so heavily mocked and every other publication promotedWhy do our schools carry sexually charged materials for 5th graders and if we demand their removal, we are book banners, but many schools have removed only bibles, and students with bibles must have them covered. Religious apparel is not allowed but Pride Day has turned into Pride Year. Students are required to participate and pledge to the pride flagWe need to continue reading, possessing, and declaring God/King's Word in the world,“God created man in his image… male and female The violent attack on God implanted identity attack on God's role in conceptionThe premise that it is just a biologyThe attack on identityGod's image bearerApostolic purposeThe reality of male/femaleGender confusion shows up through many different vehicles but those are disguises. It's always an attack on the KingdomThe beauty of complementary roles of man womanMark‬ ‭10‬:‭6‬ ‭NIV ‬‬”“But at the beginning of creation God ‘made them male and female.'“Removal of male and female is an attack on Kingdom“Man shall leave his father and his mother and hold fast to his wife, and they shall become one flesh.”the violent attack against covenantal marriageNot every marriage is covenantal marriageCivil unions are not Biblical MarriagesBiblical Covenantal Marriage is an agreement between three entitiesMark‬ ‭10‬:‭7‬-‭9‬ ‭NIV‬‬ ”‘For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh.' So they are no longer two, but one flesh. Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate.”“Ecclesiastes 4:9–12 (NIV) Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor: If either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up. Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone? Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.Malachi 2:13–16 (MSG) And here's a second offense: You fill the place of worship with your whining and sniveling because you don't get what you want from GOD. Do you know why? Simple. Because GOD was there as a witness when you spoke your marriage vows to your young bride, and now you've broken those vows, broken the faith-bond with your vowed companion, your covenant wife. GOD, not you, made marriage. His Spirit inhabits even the smallest details of marriage. And what does he want from marriage? Children of God, that's what. So guard the spirit of marriage within you. Don't cheat on your spouse. “I hate divorce,” says the GOD of Israel. GOD-of-the-Angel-Armies says, “I hate the violent dismembering of the ‘one flesh' of marriage.” So watch yourselves. Don't let your guard down. Don't cheat.Divorce -‭‭ Mark‬ ‭10‬:‭10‬-‭12‬ ‭NIV‬‬ ”When they were in the house again, the disciples asked Jesus about this. He answered, “Anyone who divorces his wife and marries another woman commits adultery against her. And if she divorces her husband and marries another man, she commits adultery.”“Marital Rates dropping, “try it out” leads to nothing good.“Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth the violent attack against procreation that has defined Kingdom purposesThe attack comes in all sorts of disguises but ultimately this is the most violent attack of all attacks.Violence focused on God's Apostles before they have their intended impact.Violence via: abortion or miscarriageAbortion is modern day Molech worship: the promise of a better life if we kill the child.Having kids is viewed as as negativeLarge families are mocked, traditionally celebratedLIES: the earth can't support itLIES: what kind of evil brings a child into this sufferingLIES: we can't afford thatPloy to keep kingdom expansion limited‭‭Mark‬ ‭10‬:‭14‬-‭16‬ ‭NIV‬‬”When Jesus saw this, he was indignant. He said to them, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.” And he took the children in his arms, placed his hands on them and blessed them.“Malachi 2:13–16 (MSG) And here's a second offense: You fill the place of worship with your whining and sniveling because you don't get what you want from GOD. Do you know why? Simple. Because GOD was there as a witness when you spoke your marriage vows to your young bride, and now you've broken those vows, broken the faith-bond with your vowed companion, your covenant wife. GOD, not you, made marriage. His Spirit inhabits even the smallest details of marriage. And what does he want from marriage? Children of God, that's what. So guard the spirit of marriage within you. Don't cheat on your spouse. “I hate divorce,” says the GOD of Israel. GOD-of-the-Angel-Armies says, “I hate the violent dismembering of the ‘one flesh' of marriage.” So watch yourselves. Don't let your guard down. Don't cheat.

SLIDE APOSTOLIC EXILES - Violent Then & Now AttacksMatthew 11:12 (ESV) From the days of John the Baptist until now the kingdom of heaven has suffered violence, and the violent take it by force.biazo: forceful behavior intended to hurt, damage, or kill someone/somethingThe Kingdom of Heaven:Established Eternally, Extended to EarthUnknown Events Brought Chaos To Kingdom On EarthEarth Was Reformed With A Renewed Kingdom PresenceAdam Was Heaven's Apostle To Colonize EarthThe Other Kingdom's King Attacked The Kingdom/GardenSATAN'S VISIT WAS NOT AN OPPORTUNISTIC TRICK. It was an intensely violent attack against the Kingdom's Presence on Earth, the Kingdom's Apostolic Leader, the Kingdom's Citizens, the Kingdom's Mission on Earth, and ultimately the King Himself.IT'S THE SAME VIOLENT ATTACK. YOU ARE ADAM.7 Then & Now Violent Attacks“In the beginning, God” the violent attack against the reality of God/His KingdomNotice it's an attack on The God, not on all gods.Culture shows respect all religions except ChristianityIn HR Hirings, there tends to be a welcoming of anything outside of Christianity Fashionable to attack Judaism/Christianity - protestsIf Christians protest anything - white extremistsMock Jesus, but not Allah or Muhammad his prophetNo limit to using Jesus as a curse wordMental Health Facilities - people cursing JesusWe are to establish the reality of God/His Kingdom in our world.“And God said, “Let there be…” the violent attack on the creative work of God to establish Heaven/EarthThis attack started with the introduction of Darwinism into the school system in the late 1800's. Traditionally, science was taught from a Biblical creation perspective. During WW1 there was another push, and many states made it illegal to teach evolution. In 1968 the U.S. The Supreme Court overturned the laws that had banned the teaching of evolution and most schools leaned into the “Equal Time” approach. The issue was again examined by the U. S. Supreme Court in the 1980's where the courts determined 1) Creation Science is religion; 2) to teach religion in the public schools is illegal; and 3) Creation Science is not science... They ignore the scientific reality of Mathematical Impossibility: right time, place, chemicals, for us to have the exact gravity to stick to earth, but not so much that our blood isn't trapped in our ankles.Science ignored - Laws of Entropy - most evolution tends to deformity not improvementIntelligent Design is completely ignoredFossils are covered in the Gap TheoryWe are to continue to establish the creative work of God here on earth as we take dominion.“He said to the woman…”The violent attack on God's Apostles, representatives of His Kingdom created to take ground from the other Kingdom.While all people are under siege, God's Apostolic people are alway under attackAdam, The Lineage Of Abraham, The Jewish Nation, Christianity.It's subtle but it's tangible.Pandemic:Bars/strip clubs were open, church gatherings closed.Casinos were open, prayer meetings were not allowed.Football players on the field, churches finedHistorical Attacks: Foxe's Book of MartyrsToday Attacks: The Voice of the Martyrshttps://www.iamnevent.com/?_source_code=GSA24B1&gad_source=1&gclid=CjwKCAiA2pyuBhBKEiwApLaIO0HIap-oCBLzgKQ1d4jyh99O_fJYa5JqjNoFFLrGyA25YlBTJBqwpRoCjfgQAvD_BwEFree online event March 8, 8PMDietrich Bonhoeffer was a German protestant pastor and theologian known for his opposition to National Socialism and treatment of Jews. Initially he was silent, but when pastors were required to agree to Nazi propaganda in the pulpits, he left Germany to be safe and to attend the Union Theological Seminary in New York.“I have come to the conclusion that I made a mistake in coming to America this time. I must live through this difficult period in our national history along with the people of Germany. I will have no right to participate in the reconstruction of Christian life in Germany after the war if I do not share the trials of this time with my people ... Christians in Germany will have to face the terrible alternative of either willing the defeat of their nation in order that a future Christian civilization may survive, or else willing the victory of their nation and thereby destroying our civilization and any true Christianity. I know which of these alternatives I must choose but I cannot make that choice from a place of security.Aa man who saw the execution: I saw Pastor Bonhoeffer... kneeling on the floor praying fervently to God. I was most deeply moved by the way this lovable man prayed, so devout and so certain that God heard his prayer. At the place of execution, he again said a short prayer and then climbed the few steps to the gallows, brave and composed. His death ensued after a few seconds. In the almost fifty years that I worked as a doctor, I have hardly ever seen a man die so entirely submissive to the will of God.Later he was convicted for his ties to the July 20, 1944, conspiracy to overthrow the Nazi regime led to his execution in 1945. His theological writings are regarded as classics throughout the Christian world.We will openly confront social and political propaganda from the pulpit.We refuse to repeat lies, even if our safety comes into play.We will refuse to participate in social activities that are wrong:No forced Vaccine or Vaccine ChecksNuremberg medical trials 1946: never again use humans as medical lab-ratsHelmuth Vetter, an Auschwitz camp physician, SS captain and employee of the Bayer group within IG Farben conducted medical experiments on inmates at Auschwitz and at the Mauthausen concentration camp. In one study of an anaesthetic, the company paid for the use of 150 female inmates of Auschwitz. A Bayer employee wrote to Rudolf Höss, the Auschwitz commandant: "The transport of 150 women arrived in good condition. However, we were unable to obtain conclusive results because they died during the experiments. We would kindly request that you send us another group of women to the same number and at the same price.As God's Apostles, representatives of His Kingdom, we need to continue to take ground from the other Kingdom.“Did God actually say” the violent attack focused on reading, possessing, and declaring God/King's WordWhy is the Bible so heavily mocked and every other publication promotedWhy do our schools carry sexually charged materials for 5th graders and if we demand their removal, we are book banners, but many schools have removed only bibles, and students with bibles must have them covered. Religious apparel is not allowed but Pride Day has turned into Pride Year. Students are required to participate and pledge to the pride flagWe need to continue reading, possessing, and declaring God/King's Word in the world,“God created man in his image… male and female The violent attack on God implanted identity attack on God's role in conceptionThe premise that it is just a biologyThe attack on identityGod's image bearerApostolic purposeThe reality of male/femaleGender confusion shows up through many different vehicles but those are disguises. It's always an attack on the KingdomThe beauty of complementary roles of man womanMark‬ ‭10‬:‭6‬ ‭NIV ‬‬”“But at the beginning of creation God ‘made them male and female.'“Removal of male and female is an attack on Kingdom“Man shall leave his father and his mother and hold fast to his wife, and they shall become one flesh.”the violent attack against covenantal marriageNot every marriage is covenantal marriageCivil unions are not Biblical MarriagesBiblical Covenantal Marriage is an agreement between three entitiesMark‬ ‭10‬:‭7‬-‭9‬ ‭NIV‬‬ ”‘For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh.' So they are no longer two, but one flesh. Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate.”“Ecclesiastes 4:9–12 (NIV) Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor: If either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up. Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone? Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.Malachi 2:13–16 (MSG) And here's a second offense: You fill the place of worship with your whining and sniveling because you don't get what you want from GOD. Do you know why? Simple. Because GOD was there as a witness when you spoke your marriage vows to your young bride, and now you've broken those vows, broken the faith-bond with your vowed companion, your covenant wife. GOD, not you, made marriage. His Spirit inhabits even the smallest details of marriage. And what does he want from marriage? Children of God, that's what. So guard the spirit of marriage within you. Don't cheat on your spouse. “I hate divorce,” says the GOD of Israel. GOD-of-the-Angel-Armies says, “I hate the violent dismembering of the ‘one flesh' of marriage.” So watch yourselves. Don't let your guard down. Don't cheat.Divorce -‭‭ Mark‬ ‭10‬:‭10‬-‭12‬ ‭NIV‬‬ ”When they were in the house again, the disciples asked Jesus about this. He answered, “Anyone who divorces his wife and marries another woman commits adultery against her. And if she divorces her husband and marries another man, she commits adultery.”“Marital Rates dropping, “try it out” leads to nothing good.“Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth the violent attack against procreation that has defined Kingdom purposesThe attack comes in all sorts of disguises but ultimately this is the most violent attack of all attacks.Violence focused on God's Apostles before they have their intended impact.Violence via: abortion or miscarriageAbortion is modern day Molech worship: the promise of a better life if we kill the child.Having kids is viewed as as negativeLarge families are mocked, traditionally celebratedLIES: the earth can't support itLIES: what kind of evil brings a child into this sufferingLIES: we can't afford thatPloy to keep kingdom expansion limited‭‭Mark‬ ‭10‬:‭14‬-‭16‬ ‭NIV‬‬”When Jesus saw this, he was indignant. He said to them, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.” And he took the children in his arms, placed his hands on them and blessed them.“Malachi 2:13–16 (MSG) And here's a second offense: You fill the place of worship with your whining and sniveling because you don't get what you want from GOD. Do you know why? Simple. Because GOD was there as a witness when you spoke your marriage vows to your young bride, and now you've broken those vows, broken the faith-bond with your vowed companion, your covenant wife. GOD, not you, made marriage. His Spirit inhabits even the smallest details of marriage. And what does he want from marriage? Children of God, that's what. So guard the spirit of marriage within you. Don't cheat on your spouse. “I hate divorce,” says the GOD of Israel. GOD-of-the-Angel-Armies says, “I hate the violent dismembering of the ‘one flesh' of marriage.” So watch yourselves. Don't let your guard down. Don't cheat.

Praying for a warrior's death.A 5-part story By Blind_Justice & Loqui Sordida Ad Me. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.Debon, far to the north, was a land of harsh winters and mild summers, ice and snow yielding to fields of wildflower and rye. The dichotomous climate bred stout warriors who were quick to anger, but stalwart allies if you managed to befriend them. Their grudges were legendary, as were tales of their bravery.Joras moaned. All of this, Ambrose had taught him, along with a smattering of their language.The artist tapped his chest. It took him several tries until he managed to string coherent words together. “I am Joras. You are far from your shores, friend.”Aelric muttered something incoherent, then, louder: “You are, real?” On hands and knees, the stinking, blood-smeared man scrabbled closer, his almost-skeletal hand topped by cracked fingernails. He reached for Joras’ face. “You are real?”Joras stopped Aelric’s hand and clasped it with his own. “Yes. I am no ghost.” The limb seemed fragile, shaking in his loose grasp like a storm-tossed branch. “What are you doing here?”Aelric wheezed. It dawned on Joras that he had tried to laugh. "Dying.“Joras shook his head. "I mean, in this land. Why are you here?”Aelric groaned. His mouth moved, as if he was chewing on his words. Then he said. "Adventurer. Explorer.“"Did you come here alone?”Aelric shook his head. "Longship. My, longship. Storm blew us off-course. Reef damaged the ship. Needed repairs, so we-“ He coughed."You could land safely? Our ship was destroyed.”Aelric nodded. Behind the mask of grime and blood, Joras spotted a re-emerging intelligence in the other prisoner’s pale blue eyes. "While gathering material, met Unami.“ He hugged himself, his face distorted in a primeval mask of longing. "She saw our ship, wanted to leave island. Taught much about the jungle. One night, she came, my tent and, ” He sighed, then made a lewd gesture.“You love this Unami?”Another nod. "Very much. Kind, gentle. Wild!“ He gestured again, a lopsided smile on his face. "One day, Unami said, ‘need to go back to tribe’.” He sniffled. "Did not say why. When she went, I followed.“Joras began to understand. "You got caught?” He mimicked firing a blow dart.Aelric nodded.“They kept you here?”Another nod. "Elders came and asked questions. So many questions.“ Thick tears dribbled down his nose. "Questions and beatings. And suddenly, they did not come any more. They forgot about me.”“How long…” Joras began.Aelric shook his head. “Forgot to count,” he moaned. “My men never came. Told them to wait a month, then come looking every solstice. They never came.” A shuddering sob tore from his chest.“Perhaps they are wary of the jungle,” Joras said.Aelric didn’t listen. “They did not come!” he groaned, pounding the unyielding floor, tears and snot flying from his face as he cried, self-built bulwarks breaking in the presence of another living soul.The agony in Joras’ chest was a mere pinprick compared to the abyss Aelric wallowed in. The Debonite’s sobs and howls spoke of betrayal and loss, of the imminent spectre of death, icy claws reaching for Aelric’s soul, tied as it was to his feeble, broken frame.Joras cursed softly. His pack was still where he had dropped it, in the temple’s grand hall. He undid the tattered remains of his cloak and shuffled close to Aelric, pulling the weeping and shaking man into a gentle embrace, dabbing at his tear-streaked face. Like a drowning man, Aelric clung to his body as he wept.It took Aelric some time to find his composure. He used the sullied orange cloth to wipe snot off his nose. “They never came,” he whispered.“We will make it out of here,” Joras said with conviction.Aelric laughed. “You might. I won’t.”Joras shook his head. “You’ve survived this long. Hold out just a little longer. I have friends outside. They will come. Tsonia will come.”Aelric gazed at him. “They never come. And even if they did, I am already dead, Joras. I can feel the Reaper walking behind me. My body has suffered enough.”“Don’t you want to find your Unami?” Joras pleaded. “She has to be in the village somewhere!”“She probably does not even know I am here,” Aelric muttered. An idea lit up his face. “Now that you are here, please do me a favor.”“If I can,” Joras said, hugging the stinking man close.“Kill me.”As if slapped by a giant, Joras recoiled. “No!”Aelric’s hands dug into his shoulders like brittle claws. “Joras, I want a clean death. A warrior’s death. There is no honor in wasting away like this.”“Don’t talk like that!” Joras barked. “I have just killed one of the finest men I ever knew. I will not sully my conscience with another death, do you understand?” He shook the bleary-eyed prisoner. “You will hold out for a few more hours, then we will find your Unami and we all leave this thrice-cursed island together!”Death Inevitable had never known such sacrilege. The outsider claimed to be a god; perhaps he was. Death Inevitable knew the outsider could compel his people to obey. He recalled the orders and instructions now that the Sleeper had restored his memory of time lost to the outsider’s whims. He did not know how the outsider possessed such power, but he could not deny that he did. Perhaps the outsider was a god.But this was the Sleeper’s temple, and the Sleeper was a greater god than the outsider. The Sleeper had freed Death Inevitable from the outsider’s control, and Death Inevitable had repaid that miracle with this blasphemy. Death Inevitable had invited the outsider into this sanctum, because while the outsider still held his people in thrall, Death Inevitable did not see any other way.May the Sleeper forgive him.This sacred chamber was meant to be dark and quiet and still. But the outsider wanted light so that his bride could see, and music so that his bride could dance, and food so that his bride could feast. Never had so many crowded into this space, all at the outsider’s command and without question. Drummers played rhythms of revelry and celebration. The tribe’s most fertile women stood naked, bearing platters of fruit and roasted meats, or jars of fermented juice.The stone doors, normally sealed fast against the uninitiated, stood wide awaiting the arrival of their so-called god. In the dancing light of lamps and candles and braziers, shadows played along the ancient carvings on the wall, giving frowns and scowls of disapproval to the monstrous visages of the frieze. In the center of the floor a hasty altar of reeds and sinew had been erected, covered with the finest cloth the tribe could spin. Upon it sat a jug of blessed water and a dozen candles.And Death Inevitable was there too.A sudden commotion at the doors heralded the arrival of the outsider and his fire-haired bride, escorted by Serpent and followed by the two heaviest and clumsiest men of the tribe bearing long hunting spears. The outsider had decided they were intimidating.“You have done well, Skull-face,” the outsider said, looking around at the assemblage. “Your god is pleased.”Death Inevitable did not understand the words in the outsider’s language, but it was part of the outsider’s magic that all who saw his eyes understood his intent and desire innately. Thanks be to the Sleeper, Death Inevitable no longer felt compelled to act on those desires. He muttered a silent prayer that Serpent remained free as well.There was an almost imperceptible flinch in the bride. Death Inevitable recognized the sensation of waking from one of the outsider’s orders with no memory of what had transpired. The bride had his sympathy. The guards prodded her to walk forward.Serpent ushered the new arrivals to the center of the room and bid them kneel at the altar.“I do not kneel before anyone,” growled the outsider. “Others kneel before me. All of you, kneel before me.”The gathered host knelt, and Death Inevitable and Serpent knelt with them. Only the guards remained on their feet, spearpoints at the ready.“Now Tsonia, my dear, if I remove your bonds, will you behave?” the outsider asked his bride.“Of course, your grace,” the bride answered. This brought a smile to the outsider’s face.“You lie,” he said and the smile vanished. “Mere moments ago I compelled you for the truth. You told me then that you would punch me in the throat to silence my voice and then kill me slowly with my own blade, Of course you’ve already forgotten.”The bride struggled against the fetters that bound her wrists to her narrow waist and glared at the outsider. “If you must have my obedience in this travesty, why not just compel it from me?”“Because, my beloved.” The outsider took her chin in his hand and forced her to look into his eyes. “I want you to remember it. For all the days of your life, I want you to remember that you are mine completely, body, mind, and soul.”The bride relented. She closed her eyes and bowed her head.“Skull-face, Snake-face, let’s get on with it,” the outsider commanded, his mood brightening again. “Begin the ceremony. My marital bed awaits.”The elders stood and took their places at two of the three pillars. Condor’s pillar remained vacant, but the outsider did not seem to notice or care.Death Inevitable raised his arms in benediction, and in a strong voice called out “Let all those who here gathered bear witness to this,”“In real words, please,” sighed the outsider.Death Inevitable began again in the simple words shared by outsiders. “We see these two. Two flames become one flame. Two waters become one water. In the name of our god who is called Kelgore, these two become one. I have said this.”And with those final words, the couple were wed. Serpent turned and depressed the tongue of the effigy carved into the pillar at his back, and the outsider, his bride, and their altar tumbled into the darkness below.Down they fell with arms and legs flailing, reeds snapping, candles guttering as the mirror-smooth stone guided their twisted, careening path into the temple depths. Kelgore and Tsonia both were battered and winded by the time they finally came to rest in a warm chamber, the air heavy with an exotic fragrance.Tsonia found herself sprawled atop her new husband, the heat of his bare thigh between her legs. A desperate need had awakened, and even her revulsion for the man could not stop her hips from gyrating on their own, grinding her throbbing clitoris against his skin.“Is this what it is to be under your sway, Despoiler?” she asked. Her wrists still bound, she pushed her weight on her ample chest to find the leverage to satisfy her mad desire. “Do your women curse you and berate you even as they do your vile bidding?”“Enough, woman!" Kelgore protested, heaving Tsonia’s weight off of him and rising to his feet. "Can’t you see that we are betrayed?”Finding a single candle with its flame still asputter, Kelgore lit another and held it to the steeply pitched plane that dumped them so unceremoniously to the floor.“Skull-face!” he shouted up at the shadowed ceiling high above, “Can you hear me? Let us out of here now, Skull-face! Your god commands you!”Tsonia heard the odd timbre in Kelgore’s voice, knew he was exercising his foul power, and didn’t care. The heady perfume in her nose had her head swimming with lust. A lust that Kelgore seemed uninterested in satiating. She hiked her chainmail skirt to her waist and strained against her fibrous cuffs to stretch her fingers between her legs.“They can’t hear you, you great bombastic oaf!” she snarled. “We’ve fallen too far. Now open those robes and take me, dammit! If I can’t choke the life out of you, I’ll fuck you to death if I have to.”“Not now, damn you!" Kelgore snapped, panic rising in his voice. "Guards! Kill the shamans! Do you hear me? Kill the shamans and release me!”“Damn you, Kelgore!” Tsonia spat, rolling onto her stomach and tucking her knees beneath her to better reach her ravenous cunt. “Why do you compel such passion in me then? If you’re not going to fuck me, release me from this damned desire!”“This is not my doing!” Kelgore turned on Tsonia. “Whatever lascivious desire you, Oh, gods.”He dropped the candle and it rolled across the floor throwing flickering light into the darkness. Tsonia looked up and saw before her a mass of writhing, outstretched tendrils of flesh, as if dozens of great serpents had been flayed alive and bound at their tails. The thing was enormous, towering above them, half hidden in the shadows.“What hell released such a thing?” cried Kelgore, his terror all too clear.Tsonia’s mind reeled at the impossibility of what her eyes beheld. If the creature was one or a multitude together, she could not tell. The many arms wriggled and swayed in the most unnerving way as they drew nearer from every angle.The first foul tendril prodded Kelgore and he smacked it away, warning the alien monstrosity to stay back. A second tentacle began to curl around his arm. Tsonia saw him draw the knife at his belt and stab the horrid appendage.The grotesque abomination withdrew with a sudden spasm and a rapid clacking noise, as if pain was a concept it had rarely known. Seizing the moment of opportunity, Kelgore knelt by Tsonia’s side and sawed at her stout tethers with his blade.“We must escape, Tsonia!” he hissed. “We have to find a way out toge, Gchk!”Snapping the final fraying strands that bound her, Tsonia jabbed an elbow into Kelgore’s throat, silencing his infernal tongue for good.She disarmed him with a brutal twist of his wrist, letting his knife clatter to the stone floor. Even as her desire flowed down her thighs, Tsonia stood, took Kelgore by his broken throat, and stared into the abyss of his sable eyes.“I know you desire to live, Despoiler,” she fumed in a smoldering whisper. “I see it in your eyes as plainly as writing on a page. But I will not be compelled to save you.”Taking his belt in her other hand, Tsonia hefted the man who would be a god over her head and hurled him gasping and wheezing into the foul tangle of arms. Like a nest of vipers, they slithered over and around his arms and legs and body, tittering with squeals of expectation, tearing away his robes and raiment, holding him aloft even as he struggled and thrashed against their restraint.Kelgore’s legs were spread by the tendrils of flesh that bound him, allowing another tentacle to embed itself into his rectum, probing deeper as he tried to scream through a crushed larynx. Yet another of the fleshy things snaked into his open mouth and down his tortured throat.In the candle light, Tsonia saw the horror in his eyes, knew the terror he felt as his body was invaded and immobilized. She felt his helplessness, and in the warm air thick with alien fragrance, she masturbated furiously as he suffered.A bead of sweat fell from her forehead and Tsonia shed her short hauberk to free her swelling tits in the still and tepid air. It was madness, she knew, but some sorcery had unleashed within her a hunger that would not be denied. Her fingers worked with reckless frenzy between her weeping folds.The terror and pain in Kelgore’s demonic eyes redoubled, and Tsonia watched in growing horror as the villain’s chest and stomach began to convulse, sputter, and steam. Kelgore’s flesh melted away like fat dripping into a fire and his bones softened to putty as the tentacled beast ejaculated acid into his bowels. The doomed man screamed in ghastly silence as death took his body inch by horrible inch.With a shudder of divine ecstasy, Tsonia came as Kelgore’s face and skull dissolved away into a viscous treacle.Still her fingers worked fervently between her slick thighs and she unlaced the chainmail kilt that pinched her hips and waist. The tendrils of the fell creature continued to ooze its acid over what meat remained on Kelgore’s arms and legs, while other probosci slurped up the syrupy remains like a swarm of great insects. Despite her revulsion at the horror unfolding in front of her, her desperate lust remained unsated and she fought for her sanity with all her failing will.“Kelgore is dead!” Tsonia screamed up at the ceiling. "Skull-face? T'pek? Can anybody hear me?“In the dim candle’s light, she saw no way out of the chamber, but most of it was still hidden in shadow. Lighting another half dozen fallen candles cast more illumination on the grizzly feast, but did little to stretch the light beyond its original bounds.Dripping with arousal, Tsonia stood on wobbly legs, took up a candle, and followed the wall away from the great tentacled horror, hoping to find some exit while it ate.The copper haired vixen had gone no more than a dozen steps when she felt the touch of the alien being’s appendage on her back, caressing her spine and tracing down the curve of her ass with a gentle purr. The thing was warm and soft but firm, not the wormy sensation she dreaded, and it sent a shiver through her soul that poured from her reinvigorated loins.Tsonia dropped the candle and fell to her knees, sobbing with need as both hands cupped her swollen sex and ground against her yearning clit. The strange scent of the exotic fragrance grew more intense, and Tsonia found her need growing apace.Tendrils of the foul thing caressed her bare shoulders and thighs and she did not find it unpleasant. Indeed, she found herself taking one of the hot, sinuous organs in her hand and guiding it to her chest where it curled around her heavy breast in a way that made her moan with pleasure. It purred again, mimicking her in response."No, no, no, no, no…” Tsonia murmured in faint protest as a tentacle gently snaked around her throat and up to caress her cheek. Another probed into the gap between her feet and calves. She felt it moving through the cleft of her ass, against her wet and tumescent lips and curling up towards her belly.“Oh, gods, It’s going to eat me!” she gasped, as she rocked her hips back and forth over the meaty shaft between her knees, grinding her engorged clit against its heat. “And I’m going to let it…”Her body rebelled against reason and she leaned forward, exposing her ravenous nethers to the creature’s curling, slithering affection. With her own hand she guided a tendril to her waiting cunt and gasped with delight as it penetrated her.“Yes, yes! Fuck that cunt,” she moaned. “Fill me and make me cum before I die, please!”A trilling call answered her. The alien horror coiled a trio of tentacles around her thighs and ankles, spreading her wide, as a fourth pressed through her anus and probed her ass.Tsonia cried out in bliss at the way her body was stretched and filled. More and more tentacles found purchase, seizing her arms and spreading her wide, exposing all of her to the beast’s gentle exploration. The dexterous appendages fondled her hips and ribs, groped at her tits, caressed her face and shoulders.She was raised off the floor, suspended in the warm, fragrant air and despite being held so firmly in the weird thing’s clutches, Tsonia had never felt so free. No bed of feathers nor sheets of silk had ever left her so exposed to sensation from every angle. Every inch of her body tingled with the touch of this miraculous thing that would be her death.Tsonia wailed in orgasm again and her body shook and trembled as her brain tried to reconcile the terrifying euphoria that gripped her.“Again!” she cried out when her voice returned. She bucked her hips in desperation to push the remarkable tentacles deeper. “Don’t stop! Please, don’t stop! Kill me if you must. Consume me if you must. But by the gods, do not stop fucking me! I would die this death a thousand times!”She felt the weight of a soft appendage writhing its way up between her tits and Tsonia opened her mouth wide in invitation. The tendril accepted, filling her mouth, delving down her throat.Whether this creature was demon or angel or something else entirely, Tsonia could not guess, but it filled her and touched her in ways no lover ever had. Not even Q'alan, the great ram-headed demon, had known her so intimately.The phallic flesh that filled her expanded and contracted, it swelled and waned in delicious counterpoint to her own gasping breath and strangled cries of delirium. Deeper than any man, with a supple manipulation within her that was alien to anything mortal woman had ever known, the whorls of flesh aroused her desire to heights yet unreached. And still Tsonia craved more.The gentle purring intensified, lowering in pitch until it became an undulating thrum of a growl. It set her nerves aflame. Tsonia could feel the vibration of the humming flesh against her skin and deep within her body. The titillating and trembling sensation wracked her with mad convulsions the likes of which she’d never known. The orgasm ravished her to her soul as sanity fled and she tumbled into an impossible dream of infinite frenzied copulation.The horrid appearance of the tentacled thing, the fear of agonizing death, the shame of failure and loss, all of these were forgotten.In the void of her fervent mind, nothing at all existed beyond her body and the tumultuous chaos of carnal sensation that consumed her. There was no inch of her, no nerve of her body that did not spasm with ecstasy.Tsonia could not wish for the impossible euphoria to continue because she could not believe it would end, nor could she remember a time before. All of creation began with an eruption from the deepest, most intimate core of her being and expanded out in never ending waves to the tips of her fingers, the tips of her toes, the end of every glorious lock of hair.She became aware of her breathing first, deep, heaving gasps of air to fill her lungs. The gaping emptiness inside of her was next, and instinctively she rocked her hips to flex muscle and flesh back into a more comfortable shape. Then she realized she was laying on cold stone tiles, and pushed herself up to look around.The candles still burned. They were shorter than they had been, but she could not say by how much and she had no other way to judge how much time had passed. She was dripping with sweat, her hair hanging lank in wet tresses. Perhaps that was why she felt a growing chill in the room. The alien fragrance was fading as well, and the cold scent of volcanic stone filled each breath.Her strange and horrifying yet somehow exquisite lover was there, just at the edge of the candle light. The long tendrils that had given her such unknown pleasure were still now, wrapped tightly around each other in a great ball, thrice as tall as she.The whole, pale-skinned mass expanded and contracted in the slow and steady rhythm of slumber.“Well isn’t that just typical,” Tsonia groused, as she went in search of her clothes.The unfamiliar chamber was awash with chaos and confusion. Hunters demanded answers from the elders. The womenfolk worried about their whelps. None understood how they had come to this place, or even where this place was. T'pek shared in their confusion, but he knew that his fire-haired mate and the one she called Kelgore, were the keys to the mystery.Death Inevitable, grasping a ceremonial staff, rapped the wooden shaft on the tiles, once, twice, three times, the sharp cracks shocking all into silence.“All will be made clear,” the elder called out to the stilled crowd. “For now, know that you were sick, but the sickness has passed. Your friends and families outside are just as confused as you are. They too were sick, but their sickness has passed as well. I ask you all to go to them and spread that message to every ear. 'You were sick, but your sickness has passed.’ Calm their fears, restore order, and trust that all will be made clear very soon.”“Please,” he said, gesturing towards the great stone doors that stood open at the back of the room. “There is much work to be done. I beg of you, leave this place and have patience while we divine the whole story and all of the answers you seek.”The chamber was filled again with chatter, but a semblance of order fell over the throng and at last they began to filter out towards the temple above and the village beyond until only T'pek remained. He surveyed the strange chamber as if it were a hunting trail and the elders some particularly troublesome prey. (1)“There is nothing here for you, hunter,” Death Inevitable hissed. “Go back to the others. There is work to be done.”“I know of the outsider called Kelgore,” T'pek stated without preamble. “I know of the woman with hair the color of fire. She is my mate, and I will know what has happened to her.”“She shares the same fate the accursed, black-eyed outsider suffered,” Serpent whispered. “I’m sorry. You will not see her again. Now, go back to the others.”“What fate?” T'pek asked, his claws hissing from their sheaths. He found Serpent’s answer deliberately vague and dismissive. “There is more you are not telling me, but I will not be dismissed so easily.”Death Inevitable placed his paw on Serpent’s shoulder. “Brother. This might be an opportunity,” the elder clad in the golden skull mask whispered. “We have lost Condor after all.”“Ah,” Serpent hissed. “Your wisdom, as always, eclipses mine.” To T'pek, he said “There are secrets the elders must keep, hunter. To know those secrets is to know why they must be so. The fate of the outsiders is one such secret.”“Our brother Condor died while under the outsider’s spell,” Death Inevitable continued, laying a hand upon T'pek’s shoulder. “We find ourselves in need of another elder, and soon.”“You are eldest among the Hunters, are you not, T'pek?” Serpent asked. "Wisest and most skilled of your peers? You are certainly worthy of elevation.“"We offer you a great honor,” Death Inevitable said. “But know that it also is a great burden. Consider it carefully.”“You will never again leave the village to roam the hunting trail or the beaches,” Serpent added. “Your life, what remains of it, will be spent serving the tribe in ways they can never understand.”“Perhaps it is better to go back to the hunt in blissful ignorance,” Death Inevitable concluded. “You can rest assured that your mate’s sacrifice was for the good of the tribe.”The back and forth between the two elders seemed intentional to T'pek, as if they meant to muddle his thoughts and confuse his reason. But to what end, he did not know. Were they trying to convince him to accept their invitation or to reject it? Or perhaps neither, but only to test his resolve.“I will know Red Tsonia’s fate, regardless of consequence,” he growled. “If I must give up the hunt and take up the gilded mask of Condor to be satisfied, so be it, I accept, now tell me your secrets!”“Calm yourself, hunter,” Death Inevitable said, touching his neck. “The understanding you seek will be conveyed through the rituals of ascension.”“Begin the ritual and be quick about it then!” T'pek spat. His patience was wearing thin and he was beginning to suspect treachery.“Calm and patience will serve you well, T'pek,” Serpent soothed. “Prepare your mind for inconceivable knowledge beyond the world you know. The ritual begins.”Serpent locked gazes with Death Inevitable, and at his nod, a pale, writhing tendril appeared from behind each elder, as if they had squirmed out from under the feathered headdresses. T'pek recoiled at the serpentine things that slithered about the elder’s shoulders, his noble visage distorted in terror and disgust.“What vile abomination is this?” he roared. His hand flew to his hips, only to find no dagger there. Like all the others who had been under Kelgore’s spell, he had only his fur.“We are caretakers of the Sleeper, and guardians of the tribe,” Serpent said, his arm intertwined with the pale-skinned, wormy appendage. “We protect our people from the wrath of the Sleeper. In turn the Sleeper protects us from the magics of outsiders. To know the Sleeper is to know the truth.”“This, This 'Sleeper’ you call it, It has changed you?” T'pek’s voice was hoarse with revulsion.“It must be so,” Death Inevitable intoned. “A bargain was struck, centuries ago, when the Sleeper allowed our ancestors to harbor him in the temple. Through his touch he speaks to us, and we to him. Thus has it been for generations beyond count.”“And through his touch, the Sleeper threw off the outsider’s evil magics,” Serpent whispered. “Praise be to him, the ancient pact remains strong.”A grim realization dawned on T'pek’s face. “It’s too late to change my mind now, isn’t it?”“We cannot have these secrets known.” Death Inevitable said. “You would be sorely missed, T'pek.”“What choice do I have then? I will know Red Tsonia’s fate.” T'pek’s shoulders slumped in resignation and he bowed his head to the elders. “Perform your ritual. I am ready.”Tsonia had paced the whole of the Sleeper’s lair twice over. Most of her candles had burned away and yet she had not found a means to escape the chamber. The only obvious way out was the slope, but it offered almost no purchase to climb. She had tried. She dared not call for help. While she did not know what to call the sleeping abomination that had so aroused her desire, she knew better than to wake it. Who knew how it would react to being roused from its slumber by the kind of racket it would take to be heard in the temple high above?Once more Tsonia paced carefully along the walls. The candle’s tiny flame sputtered suddenly, buffeted by a barely perceptible wisp of air. Perhaps there was a hollow nearby, maybe even a way out.Careful, as not to douse her last flame, Tsonia scratched at the seams in the ancient stonework with her knife. It was a testament to the antediluvian workmanship that the Vizingian blade was too thick to even wedge into the fine crack.A low rumble, felt through the air and stone more than heard, caught her attention. If it was the volcano, the sleeping thing, or something else, she could not tell. Fetching the candle, Tsonia cast an anxious gaze about the chamber, only to find the sleeping thing still curled up and at peace. Another rumble came, this time much closer, with the sound of stone on stone.The wall before her suddenly ground ajar on a hidden mechanism, a narrow gap illuminated by flickering firelight. When the rumbling stopped, there was just space enough to squeeze through sideways and Tsonia did so without hesitation.She emerged in another stone chamber lit by two torches mounted in gilded sconces. Mountains of treasure had been carelessly piled up, gold and silver, gemstones and sculptures, enough to satisfy any mortal desire. The torchlight danced and gamboled across the glittering hoard like Tsonia’s own heart at the sight of such riches.Almost lost against the incomprehensible wealth stood a robed beastkin. He wore an elaborate golden mask in the shape of a great bird and his tall, broad-shouldered body was draped in richly embroidered fabrics. He took a step forward and Tsonia stifled a startled gasp when she realized he wasn’t merely another bauble in the vault.“Who are you?” she asked warily. The stranger appeared unarmed, nor did he seem be hostile. On the contrary, there was something oddly familiar about its posture.“I am Condor, an elder of the tribe,” the stranger said, the golden beak granting the words of the Trade Tongue a hollow, distant quality. He manipulated a heavy lever.Behind her, the opening she had passed through ground closed again. Tsonia eyed Condor curiously. “Do I know you?”Condor hesitated, then shook his head. “Our god sleeps because of you. You are honored by us. You are free.” Bowing stiffly, the elder indicated another narrow gateway. Fresh night air, along with the rhythm of distant drums, seeped into the chamber.“I had a friend.” Tsonia reminded Condor. “A hunter took him away. Where is he?”“I know where.” The elder removed a heavy torch from its sconce and headed for the exit. “Follow.”Tsonia cast a longing gaze at the mountains of treasure. One armful, maybe even one choice pick, would be equal to the riches the God-King had offered as bounty for Kelgore. Without any proof of the Despoiler’s demise, there was every chance Xhastria’s divine ruler would weasel out of the bargain and then all the effort, and Ambrose’s death, would have been for naught.Sighing, Tsonia hurried after Condor. Stealing from the tribe would likely cause more grief, and she’d had her fill for one day.Outside, Condor waited patiently. When she cleared the narrow passage, he gestured. Above her, she heard the grinding of heavy stone. Perched upon a ledge, she saw two more elders manipulating ancient engravings. The stones behind her rumbled shut, barring any way back to the unfathomable riches hidden beyond.The village was bustling with life and light as Condor led her through ancient streets. Hunters eyed her curiously, some leaned in to sniff her scent. The females openly stared at her curves or whispered, pointing at her hips and ass. Other beastkin offered bows of respect as Condor approached. He led her to the outskirts, where few fires burned and the hodgepodge of ancient stone and recent woodwork became more ramshackle and dilapidated.Condor stopped in front of a heavy, barred door. “Here,” he said.Tsonia tossed the heavy bar aside and pulled the door open. The stench from inside was horrible, speaking of death and sickness. From the blackness within, she heard a relieved gasp.“Tsonia!" The voice was thick with emotion, but unmistakably Joras. "Tsonia! You’ve come at last!” The artist erupted in brittle laughter. “I told you she would come! I never doubted.”Tsonia took the torch from Condor and entered the cell.Joras struggled to his feet, weighed down by what appeared to be the corpse of an emaciated Debonite hanging off his shoulder, hair and beard and clothing all yellowed with grime.“Aelric needs help,” the artist gasped. "Medicine and food and, gods willing, a bath!“Only then did Tsonia notice the Debonite’s shallow, ragged breathing. She hurried to Joras’ side and gently took Aelric from him. It seemed to her that the man weighed less than a child."Who is your friend, Joras?” she asked as she carried him from the cell.“He’s called Aelric, and he’s a Debon princeling, although I haven’t worked out from which family,” Joras said. “But he has a ship returning for him at the next solstice!” A melancholy smile settled on his face. “We may yet escape from this thrice-cursed land, after all.”The God-King’s palace sat in the middle of Xhastria, a many-spired monument built of green brick and gilded columns, adorned with gem-studded roofs. The iron pikes on its battlements were adorned with the rotting, sun-bleached heads of the God-King’s many enemies lending a sinister air to the otherwise ethereal architecture.Tsonia, carrying a wooden case under one arm, ascended the steep stairs leading to the heavily guarded front gate. Joras glanced nervously at the towering gate guards. The polished, featureless visors of their helmets hid their eyes and made for a complex perspective. He hoped they wouldn’t object to his hastily capturing their form in his new sketchbook.“I am Red Tsonia, bringing the head of Kelgore the Despoiler,” Tsonia said, when the guards moved to challenge her approach.“You are expected,” one of the guards rumbled. The gate ground ajar, opening the way into the God-King’s palace.They entered a massive hall, four times as tall as a man and held up by columns shaped to look like men and women, all richly ornamented, each doing their part to hold aloft the viridian firmament above their heads.A white-robed scribe came to meet them, his bald head glistening with sweat. “What in the Pits took you so long?” he hissed. “It was a simple enough bounty!”Tsonia glared at him with the weight of Ambrose’s loss on her soul.“Nothing is simple when demon-kissers are involved,” she spat. “We were nearly drowned in a witch-storm, marooned on a savage island, and left defenseless to face an egomaniac whose magics and cruelty may have someday rivaled your own king’s.”“Yes, yes,” the functionary placated her, “only please don’t say such things out loud. The walls have ears you know.”“Fetching the God-King’s new bauble has cost me dearly. I ought to ask for more coin.”“So, this is it?” the scribe asked, looking at the box. Tsonia opened the lid and a faint whiff of death escaped. The scribe hurriedly covered his nose with his sleeve. He coughed, then muttered. “Well done indeed. The God King shall be pleased.”“He better be,” Tsonia growled. “Lead on already.”As the scribe hurried away, Joras laid a hand on her arm. “It is not too late to turn back, Kaela,” he whispered.Tsonia stared at him, jaw set in defiance. “Joras, what difference is one skull to another?” she hissed. “I saw Kelgore die. I saw his remains consumed. There was nothing left of him to bring back!”“Still, do you think this the wise course of action?” He glanced from side to side nervously. “The God-King does not easily suffer trickery.”“There is no trickery,” Tsonia insisted. “Kelgore is dead. That is truth. The skull is merely a symbol of that truth. The God-King will understand.”Joras sighed and shook his head. “You are not taking this seriously enough.” He hurried after the scribe.Tsonia fell into step next to him as they breezed through titanic corridors and extravagant salons, past bejeweled courtiers casually tormenting naked slaves, past the God-Kings concubines offering their unearthly delights, across sun-flooded terraces awash with exotic plants and artificial waterfalls, until they finally reached the heart of the palace and the enormous throne room of the God-King.Garbed in a simple white robe, wearing an elaborate crown of woven gold, Xhastria’s divine ruler was impressive to behold. He towered over his courtiers as an adult towers over a child. His features were flawless, as if chiseled by an unrivaled sculptor. Bands of muscle rippled under ebony skin hinting at a prowess that waited to be unleashed. Emerald eyes burned with astute radiance, each glance delving into the onlooker’s soul.He sat upon a towering throne made from bones and skulls inlaid in gold. Hundreds of courtiers mingled around the many-tiered dais the throne stood upon, all waiting in eagerness to be recognized and granted a moment of his holy time.According to tavern gossip, the God-King’s might stretched far beyond the mortal realm. It was said that he knew about everything that transpired within the farthest reaches of his demesne and farther. Yet none had seen him anywhere but seated upon his throne, always holding court. Some speculated that the opulent orgies and grisly torture chambers sustained him with life extracted from donors, willing and unwilling alike. Others were convinced that the viridian court had taken on a life of its own, that the God-King himself was no more than a puppet of his courtiers or some hidden cabal of demon-kissers.Few were ever granted audience with the God-King, and those who were rarely divulged their conversations.The sea of courtiers parted. Jewels glinted from pierced nipples and beringed cocks in the golden light spilling from the domed ceiling above. Elaborate masks gleamed and garish robes rustled as the courtiers made room for Tsonia and Joras. Exotic scents tantalized their nostrils as they walked the carpeted approach to the throne.“The lair of the beastkin god smelled better than this,” Tsonia whispered. “I miss the stench of Xhastria’s streets already.”“Shh. No need to turn the court against us,” Joras hissed.“Red Tsonia." The voice was everywhere. It echoed from the green walls. It boomed from the domed ceiling. It was in the shafts of light burning on their backs. And it was in their heads."Your Holiness.” Tsonia took a knee and bent her head in a rare gesture of submission. Joras went to both knees, prostrating himself. He hoped his arms would hide his nervous glances.“At last you have returned. Is it done?”“Yes. Kelgore is dead. I bring you his skull as tribute.” She nudged the wooden case.“Open it.”Tsonia hesitated for just a moment, then she pulled the lid open. Inside, on a simple linen cushion, rested a skull, all of the flesh stripped away down to bare bone.A low, foreboding rumble echoed through the majestic throne room. A dark cloud seemed to pass the sun, for the golden rays subsided, leaving the throne room in dim twilight.“This is not Kelgore’s skull,” the God-King proclaimed. “I do not see his obsidian eyes.”There was a chorus of gasps as every courtier took a step back.“Kelgore is dead,” Tsonia said again, with all the conviction she could muster. “I saw him die.”The silence inside the throne room was deafening. Then, a soft rustle of cloth from the throne. The God-King had risen. Every courtier in the hall sank to their knees, holding their hands above their heads, to ward off some as-of-yet unseen calamity.“Red Tsonia, repeat what I said when first we met,” the God-King said in the patient tones a parent uses when admonishing an unruly child.“You said 'bring me the skull of Kelgore the Despoiler,’” Tsonia replied defiantly. “But his skull was destroyed after much hardship and loss of, ”“Silence!" The force of the God-King’s voice cracked a pillar. The bust of a golden woman tumbled to the floor, crushing a dozen courtiers beneath its weight. Even maimed and dying, they dared not to scream."My orders are precise, with no room for interpretation. Were it otherwise, my demesne would have fallen to enemies from within and without centuries ago.” He sat down again. “I know of your trials and tribulations. I know of your loss. I have seen the Despoiler die by your hand. And yet, despite your best efforts, you have failed in your given task.”Tsonia did not dare to speak, yet her brow was heavy with rage.The God-King went on. “Had you admitted your failure, I might have granted you a measure of recompense. You did see to the Despoiler’s end after all. Your deeds will grant welcome reprieve for my beleaguered fishermen and their families.”The God-King raised his hand and he shouted a single word no mortal tongue could pronounce. A mote of liquid fire flew from his palm, engulfing the wooden case and setting it ablaze. Tsonia gritted her teeth against the infernal heat but refused to move, her gaze locked with the inscrutable being on the dais.“You tried to deceive me, Red Tsonia. Such heresy is punished by death.” Again, the God-King’s palm erupted in fiery radiance. “But today you find me in a merciful mood. Your deeds saw the Despoiler brought low. Instead of death, there shall be exile. Leave the Green Cities by sundown and dare not return until you have done due penance. Now begone from my sight.”With this dismissal, the mass of courtiers swelled around them, obscuring the throne and the God-King from view. Tsonia came to her feet, gnashing her teeth.“That’s it? All the heartbreak, all the hardship for naught?” she yelled. Her voice was drowned out by the thundering clamor of the gossiping throng.Joras clawed into her arm. “Let’s go already,” he hissed, pulling her towards the exit. “Or do you want to risk outright execution? It was noon already when we arrived!”“You were not party to his judgment, Joras.” Tsonia said mildly, reaching for her purse. “Take what I have and make yourself a peaceful life.” She walked by his side, head bowed in defeat. “I’ve caused you more than enough grief. You deserve better than to walk the deserts with me.”“Deserts?" Joras laughed softly. "I’ve heard Debon is a beautiful place any time of year. Deep forests, snow-covered tundra, towering mountain peaks. Would that not make a suitable backdrop to paint my muse?” He gestured towards the exit. “If we hurry, we might even catch Aelric and ask for passage before he and his men get themselves killed in whatever watering hole they found.”Tsonia chuckled. They passed a gilded door frame. Wails of ecstatic anguish poured from it. “You’re more of a glutton for punishment than those deluded fools. But who would I be if I rebuked my beloved chronicler and artist?”“Much less well known,” Joras retorted. “Come, the sun sinks low. We should hurry.”In a forgotten vestibule under the beastkin’s temple, covered by dust and cobwebs, Shala seethed.The End

Weddings & DiplomacyA 5-part story By Blind_Justice & Loqui Sordida Ad Me. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.“Joras, are you alright?”“Yes, Yes, I think so,” the artist panted. “T'pek gave me a healing poultice, At least, I hope that’s what it was.” He scrabbled for the water skin on his back, only to find the leather vessel torn and almost empty. Desperately, he licked water droplets from his fingers.“A camp is close,” T'pek said. “Food and water are there. Can you walk?”Joras pulled apart his torn pant leg. It was blood-soaked, but the skin underneath was unbroken and whole. "By my brushes! It worked,“ the artist gasped. T'pek growled happily. "Ambrose, you should fill a ship’s hold with these things. You’d make a fortune if they didn’t taste like death itself,” he added in Thelyrian.He looked up at Tsonia kneeling over the sea captain and went pale. “Oh, dear…”Tsonia offered a horrible, bloody smile. “I had to go back for him. The old fool was debating fate with the gods and I couldn’t let him die just yet. I know how fond you are of him.”“Thank you,” Joras said, clasping her wrist. “Of all of us, he’s had it the worst. Losing his ship, his crew, having to watch a friend be torn to pieces by the living dead…”“I know. All because I asked for his help chasing Kelgore." Tsonia sighed. "Curse the gods for the choices we make, eh?” She wiped at the blood covering half her face, only managing to smear it.Joras came to his feet and took up the pack that Ambrose had carried. “I’m sure the idea of taking half of what the God-King offered us appealed to him at the time.”“It will be more than enough to buy him a new ship at least.” Tsonia hoisted Ambrose back onto her shoulders. She fell into step behind T'pek, Joras by her side. “Gods, I’d kill for a bath right about now.”From bundle slung over Joras’s shoulder, the dead witch’s voice rasped “Kelgore is close! His presence draws me like a lodestone.”“Yes, thank you,” Tsonia replied. “We have a guide now, your service is no longer required.”“Insolent whore!" Shala gnashed her teeth. "First you tempt my son into debauchery, and now you dismiss my counsel with such contempt. The fate spinner may have granted you beauty, but they sacrificed any shred of virtue.”Tsonia inhaled slowly, mustering her patience. “You should choose your words carefully, witch. Especially when a bottomless chasm is so close." She paused, letting her words sink in. "What makes you think I corrupted your whelp? From what I’ve heard, he was called ‘The Despoiler’ for good reason, long before I met him.”“Kelgore has always shared my ambition to dethrone the God-King!” Shala protested. “His carnal endeavors were little more than the spoils of the victor. It was only when he found your demon-tainted cunt that he got it into his head to breed an heir that might surpass him.”“Ha!” Tsonia barked. “No man’s seed has ever found purchase in my womb.” Over the years since her virgin defilement by Q'alan, there had been many, many men who had tried. “Kelgore yearns in vain.”“No mortal seed, perhaps,” Shala admonished. "But Kelgore’s blood flows just as black as yours. Don’t scorn the fate spinner’s patterns so casually, whore. They have a vicious sense of humor.“That gave Tsonia pause. She had never met another soul that had survived desecration by a demon the way she had. Was it possible that she might conceive a child with Kelgore? She really had no idea, and she wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about this new possibility.T'pek stopped at the foot of a towering tree. "Here,” he said, pointing at the trunk. Deep hand holds had been carved into the bark.Tsonia craned her neck. Expertly hidden among the wide leaves of the jungle’s canopy was a large platform nestled in the branches. Gently, she let Ambrose slide from her shoulders. The captain groaned, slowly coming to his senses.“Good to see you return to us,” Tsonia said, helping Ambrose into a sitting position. “Are there other hunters up there, T'pek?”The beastkin shook his head. “They would have come already.” He cocked his head, ears perked high. “Drums from the village are quiet. That does not happen.” He looked at Tsonia. “I am worried.”“We will see,” Tsonia said. “Can your drum ask?”“Yes.” T'pek clambered up the trunk. Moments later, a quick beat echoed from above. The response was distant and sparse.“Oh grand, more drumming,” Ambrose muttered, reaching for the hand holds. With some effort, he pulled himself up the trunk and onto the platform. Joras followed, a bit hesitant.“This isn't a Xhastrian rooftop,” Tsonia said reassuringly. “You won’t fall and break your legs again.”“At least the ground ought to be softer than those thousand-year old cobblestones,” Joras muttered darkly, pulling himself up onto the platform. Tsonia followed suit.A wondrous sight awaited once she reached the top. There was a small hearth made from stacked rocks where the coals of a small fire still smoldered. Cozy-looking piles of fronds and furs looked enough to sleep half a dozen hunters. Large, leathery leaves had been cleverly stitched together and sealed with dark sap to form water bags. Sighing with contentment, Tsonia stripped off her blood-caked armor and uncorked one of these, splashing herself until the worst of the blood was washed away.While she bathed, Ambrose and Joras rekindled the fire and skewered meat to roast. They chatted softly with each other. Tsonia noticed the glances the graying captain shot her way. They seemed less accusatory than before, but still far from his usual friendly self. She sighed, feeling the weight of her decisions laid upon her soul. But there was nothing she could do now but push on and make sure they all made it back home safely.T'pek sat at the edge of the platform, dangling his feet and rapping his drum to as much avail as before. The responses that came back were sparse and scattered, a far cry from the all-encompassing rumble from days past.Tsonia stepped behind him, sinking her hands into his shoulder fur and kneading the taut muscles underneath. T'pek looked at her in surprise. A soft purr rumbled in his chest.“What do they say?” she softly asked.“Confusion,” T'pek admitted. “The village is quiet. It is as if no one is there to beat the drums.” He listened to an errant bout of rumbles. “That does not happen. The drums are sacred!”“Can we see your village from here?”“Yes,” T'pek nodded, putting aside his drum. He guided Tsonia back towards the great tree trunk where more hand holds led further up, far above the leafy jungle canopy. “From there,” he pointed upwards.His hand caressed down her spine, inflaming her barely controlled need again. She caught his wrist. “Don’t wake my hunger, hunter,” she purred. “We must see your village.” A soft whine escaped his chest. Tsonia sighed, slipping her hand under his loincloth. She found him hard and throbbing and squeezed fondly. “You will not sleep alone tonight,” she promised. "Wisdom first.“Panting happily, T'pek dashed up the tree. His sinuous tail caressed her bruised cheek as he went.Chuckling, Tsonia followed, albeit a bit more slowly. She heard Shala snarl something, probably another bout of insults but chose to ignore the foul-mouthed witch. This climb was longer than the first, ending at a much smaller platform, barely wide enough for both of them to stand together.Despite the thick clouds overhead and the deepening darkness of the night, the volcano was easy to see. The massive plume of smoke had gained a glowing red underbelly and the sharp slopes seemed much closer now. In the absence of constant drumming, every growl and rumble of the earth was clearly audible.T'pek pointed, a dark shade against the gloom. "The village is there. But, No light. No fire.”Tsonia’s gaze followed his extended arm. She saw nothing but an unbroken carpet of leaves and swaying trees. Shielding the last rays of sunset with her hand, her eyes dug into the darkness for sign of civilization. After a moment, something finally caught her eye, a flickering light much higher up than she expected, seemingly caught in a square recess.“What am I looking at?” she wondered. “I see light. Weak light, there.”T'pek leaned forwards, his dark eyes wide to catch every errant ray of light. "The temple. There is fire in the temple.“ He shook his head. "There should be fire in the village. Fire for light. Fire to cook. Fire to scare beasts away. But there is no fire.” He growled in annoyance.T'pek swung his body off the platform and clambered down the trunk. Tsonia had to hurry to catch up with him. She reached him as he was about to descend to the jungle floor below.“Stop!” she barked.T'pek froze, hand on the trunk. “There is danger. I must help!”“Yes,” Tsonia said, taking his hand off the wood. “But do not be fast. Be smart. This danger is new. This danger is Kelgore.”“What is Kelgore?” T'pek asked. His words were taut like a drawn bow. Tsonia could sense him aching for action.“Kelgore is a bad man,” Tsonia said. “He has strong magic. He can steal your, thoughts. Your will.”T'pek gazed at her, struggling to comprehend what Tsonia was saying. “My , will?”“His words, his eyes steal, you,” Tsonia said, struggling to put Kelgore’s horrible power into the simple terms of the Trade Tongue. “Magic makes you obey him.”“His magic steals the will of my tribe?” A dangerous growl came from the hunter’s throat.“We do not know. Maybe. We need to be smart. Clever, not angry,” Tsonia said, caressing T'pek’s back. “I am your mate. Let me help.”The beastkin exhaled, a long, shuddering sound of apprehension. “Yes,” he said. "Help. But how?“Tsonia offered a horrible, little smile. "We ask the dead witch.”Kelgore was beginning to have his doubts.It had not been hard to persuade the beastkin tribe to make him their ruler. He had only had to ask, first his captors to take him before their elders, and then the elders to revere him as a god. The fact that they shared no common language made no difference at all. Any who met Kelgore’s demon-blessed gaze understood his desires intuitively. Those who heard him speak were powerless to resist his will. These savages were no different than the milky men of the Green Cities or the fish-mongers of the Xhastrian coast.And so Kelgore ruled them. Without his mother’s constant nagging, he had been free to rule as he wished and to indulge his appetites without constraint.The women of the beastkin tribe, he found, were not unattractive. They curved in all the right places and the soft fur that covered their skin was actually quite nice to feel under his hands. The beastkin girl so enthusiastically riding his cock at the moment had pert little tits that trembled deliciously. The way her long, articulate tail thrashed when she came and the claws raking down his chest and back were unexpectedly arousing.With an agonized groan of release, Kelgore finally ejaculated deep in the beast-girl’s fertile quim. He felt a new shadow cross her psyche, a selfish little desire that she’d share with none of her kin. The girl hoped that she was conceiving a great chieftain, a ruler to succeed Kelgore someday and elevate her own status in the tribe.They had all had the same secret hope, and in hindsight, Kelgore thought it was probably a mistake to gather the entire tribe and turn them all to his debaucherous cause at once.As the beastkin girl dismounted his throne with a smile and a swish of her tail she was replaced almost immediately by his next suitor, this one older, her teats fuller and hips wider. She bathed his spent cock with a long, slippery tongue, coaxing him back to his full.In her mind, Kelgore saw all the secret tricks she knew for kindling a lover. He saw her secret fear that she was not as attractive as the younger females of the tribe, and her secret desire to bear the next great chief.He had lost count of the females he had serviced, each convinced by his will that by bearing Kelgore’s offspring their tribe would thrive and flourish, vanquishing all threats and rivals. The males too were turned to Kelgore’s cause and eagerly offered up their wives, mothers, and daughters. The cuckolded males brought him food and drink and attended his every need while he defiled their women in front of them. When he had no need of them, they gathered outside the temple, like dolls lined up on a shelf, waiting for the puppet master to resume his play.Only the elders had another part to play. Without females to bring him and as priests of the tribe’s old faith, they needed to be kept busy. From painful experience Kelgore knew that men and women of faith were notoriously hard to sway, so giving them tasks away from their former holy sites to take their minds elsewhere was the only prudent thing to do. He turned the elders, bird, serpent and skull, into watchmen. They were to patrol the village and warn him of any newcomers, announced or unannounced both. They complied, their minds buckling under the weight of their new responsibilities, leaving Kelgore to enjoy the tribe’s hospitality.After days of incessant revelry, the novelty however had long since worn off, and Kelgore discovered much to his dismay that once someone was turned to his cause, it was surprisingly difficult to turn them back. Thus far, he had never stayed in one place for long, raiding coastal villages for food and supplies and bodies, both to replenish combat losses and those to sate his appetite, and that of his men. He didn’t care if his charms wore off eventually or how long it took them to do so. Now he learned about the limits of his demonic gift.No matter how deeply penetrating his gaze, no matter how resonant the timbre of his voice, he could not staunch the beastkin’s desire to copulate with him for more than a few hours at a time. He could inspire new wishes and inclinations for a short time, but always that first yearning to breed a generation of his children returned.Perhaps that cause had been too grand in scale and scope. When Kelgore desired food they brought him food and when he desired sleep, they let him sleep. But after he’d eaten or slept, the tribe’s desire returned to milking his seed into the loins of their females. Perhaps after nine months or so, when the cause was fulfilled, his tribe would be ripe for new challenges.As the next female mounted Kelgore’s reinvigorated rod with a murmur of satisfied yearning, he realized that something was amiss. Distracted by the purring beastkin writhing on his lap, it took him some time to realize that the drums, thus far an ever-present rumbling background noise, had stopped. Kelgore had learned that various rhythms tracked and relayed different threats across the island. He could tell the difference between “strangers on the beach” and “strangers in the jungle” and “strangers sleeping”, but this silence was odd.A shadow fell over him. Kelgore raised his gaze. The sharp-beaked golden mask of the bird-faced elder loomed above him. His clawless front paw reverentially touched his shoulder, begging for his attention.The elder’s thoughts were a confused jumble, but something stirred within them, some other form mental connection, not unlike his own. Despite himself, Kelgore closed his hand around the elder’s, forcing his will through the hazy confusion. The elder carried a secret, something no one besides his peers was allowed to know. They guarded something, locked away in the catacombs beneath the temple. Something old, something horrible, so vile it could annihilate the whole tribe if it ever broke free from its shackles. Deals had been struck. The elders gave themselves willingly, becoming instruments of the Sleeper’s will and fulfilling its desire for nourishment and entertainment. Once sated, it would go back to sleep for years on end, leaving the tribe to flourish.Kelgore pushed the elder’s hand off his shoulder. “What is it?” he snarled. “I’m busy.” The female on his lap looked down at his imperious tone.“Strangers are in the village. One has fur the color of fire.”Suddenly wide awake and invigorated, Kelgore sat up. His true bride had finally arrived and it was time to greet her, make her his queen.Kelgore took the beastkin woman by her ass and shoved her off to the side of the padded breeding throne the savages had built for him. She stroked his shoulder and chest with an inquiring bark as Kelgore pushed himself to his feet. In her touch Kelgore felt her anticipation, saw her sprawled beneath him, saw her on her hands and knees before him, saw her spooned against him.“No,” Kelgore spat, knocking her hand away. His cold gaze pierced her wide, faithful eyes and she knew his desire even if his words meant nothing to her. “No, I don’t want you.”He threw his sturdy over-robe around his shoulders without bothering to dress more completely. As Kelgore hurried from the temple he had appropriated from the village elders, he left the beastkin whore curled up on the throne, sobbing while the elder watched, bereft of any emotion. The other females, gathered as they were in the great hall around the firepit, looked up as he strode past. Some purred in satisfaction, those he hadn’t fucked yet crawled on hands and knees to intercept him, their tails high in the air. The sounds they made were between playful coos and desperate howls. He didn’t care for any of them, now that demon-blooded, fire-haired Tsonia was close! He snapped an angry order, his loud voice enough for the horny ones to shirk away in confusion and the sated ones to raise their heads in puzzlement. Kelgore paid them no heed, eager to leave the gloom of his makeshift throne room.The entire village, what there was of it, spread out down the slope beneath his temple. The ruins of once elegant stone dwellings had been repurposed by clumsier hands with branches and bark and animal hides into crude hovels and halls. Surrounding the great hall the tribes’ males languished. Unneeded, unwanted, with no purpose save for waiting for their god’s next command. As he emerged, Kelgore’s worshippers turned to look up at him, their weapons, tools and drums forgotten besides them. They had been blessed by their new deity’s appearance. All they wanted was to serve.And serve they shall. He picked six of the strongest hunters. “You, come with me. Defend me with your lives, but do not hurt our guest.” The broad-shouldered beastkin growled in assent and grabbed their spears, coming lithely to their feet.The other beastkin slumped into listless heaps of fur as Kelgore swept down the steep steps leading into the village. With his guards in tow he strode along the main thoroughfare, an ancient road paved with cracked tiles. Past the abandoned huts he went, past the deserted tanning racks and smoke houses, past toppled weapons racks, scattered tools and forgotten toys, and then into the main square.Across the plaza Kelgore saw two men, men like him, hugging close to the broken masonry of ancient walls. There was caution in their eyes as they picked their way forward. They were strangers to him, and so Kelgore assumed they must be survivors from the vessel that had dogged him into Shala’s storm. One of the men, the younger, wore the tattered remains of a garish orange cloak.“Fur the color of fire,” Kelgore muttered to himself. He would have to have a chat with Bird-face, teach him proper use of the Trade Tongue. While he was disappointed that Tsonia had not yet come to him, he was glad to have the company of other men.Both men appeared haggard and unkempt, but their expressions brightened as soon as they caught sight of Kelgore and his retinue.“Praise the gods!” shouted the younger man.“Succor?” called the elder as both men hurried closer. "Succor, for two shipwrecked sailors?“Kelgore’s guards closed ranks around him and the men stopped dead, as if only just noticing the beasts at Kelgore’s command. The men looked past the guards with eyes full of hope and desperation."Stand down,” said Kelgore with a smile. “Can’t you oafs see that these good men are harmless? Welcome, gentlemen. Welcome to my kingdom, such as it is.”As his honor guard parted, the men looked at each other. Kelgore saw a strange pair of expressions cross their faces, and he could not fault their confusion. He was curious to see how the strangers would respond.“Your majesty!” replied the elder man at last, offering a low bow. “We are your humble servants.”“You may approach,” Kelgore gestured to the ground before him and both strangers rushed forward bowing and scraping. They knelt where he had indicated, their eyes cast down in deferential supplication. Kelgore could see now that they were bruised and bloodied. Their trek through the jungle must have been a difficult one. And yet these were civilized men who knew how to behave in the presence of a king.“Rise and come with me, my welcome guests,” Kelgore instructed with all the magnanimity his authority granted. “You will be fed and your wounds treated. My court has need of noble men such as yourselves. I have many questions, but they can wait until you are fed and rested.”Something was nagging at Kelgore as he led the pair back towards his temple. He realized that these men had probably been hunting him only a week ago, but that hardly mattered. If they opposed him, he would simply turn them to his cause. No, what troubled Kelgore was the thought that these two lowly sailors had made their way to him through the treacherous jungle faster than Tsonia had.Serpent waited. He had brought the outsider food and drink. He had brought fresh cloth to cleanse the outsider after he had lain with the women. But now the outsider had no task for him, so Serpent waited. He would wait until the outsider would have need of him again. Impassively he had watched as every last female, young or old, was herded into the temple. He watched as the hunters shuffled from the great hall like cattle, how they crumpled into motionless piles of fur and misery, having to listen to their wives, their daughters mew in heat as the outsider took them, one by one.He watched as Brother Condor entered the temple and talked to the outsider, causing him to stop the breeding rituals and storm from the great hall in sudden excitement. He had no idea why, but that was fine. He merely had to wait and receive his new orders.A sharp pain tore through his skull, covered by the heavy mask and ornate headdress. Moaning in agony, Serpent went to his knees. Around the temple, he heard two echoes of his own wail as his brothers suffered the same excruciating pain.Tears ran down his cheeks and dripped from his whiskers as titanic forces battled for dominance in his skull. He burned in a sudden fever, yet his teeth chattered as he shook with the chills. A fang clipped his tongue, drawing fresh, hot blood and another pained whimper. The pain was strongest at the base of his neck, as if a spear point was forced into his spine.And Serpent remembered, when he had been chosen, he went into a chamber below the great hall. The other two elders, Condor and Death Inevitable, were chanting. Thick smoke poured from a strange vessel, tearing up his eyes and insulting his sensitive nostrils with its cloying sweetness. Each breath he took caused him to relax more and more. Death Inevitable, his hand disappearing in the grotesque maw of a statue hewn from the wall, ordered him to step forward and kneel by the hatch in the floor. Awestruck by the great honor bestowed upon him, the most senior hunter of the tribe, he complied. The hatch ground open and more sweet-smelling vapors poured forth, blinding him completely. There was a sickening, slurping and smacking noise and something viscous slithered around his neck.The pain that followed was worse than anything he’d ever have to endure. His skin burned. His flesh dissolved. And something snaked under his skull. He howled and screamed, baring his fangs, trying to claw at the slithering intrusion, but the elders held him firmly to the ground. There was no escape, only merciful unconsciousness.When he awoke some time later, the village was celebrating the arrival of its newest elder. His head throbbed with unfamiliar palpitations. Gingerly, he touched his neck, sensing a small lump bulging from his spine. When his fingers brushed it, a soothing sensation oozed from it, assuring him everything would be all right. The Sleeper would see to that. The others had found him then and presented him with the golden mask of the fang-toothed Serpent. From now on, he was no longer a hunter. He had been chosen. The Sleeper had accepted him. He now was an elder, serving the village and its unseen master both until the day he died.Groaning, cursing his ancient bones, Serpent came to his feet. The Sleeper had freed him from the outsider’s spell. There was a strange movement on his back and gingerly, Serpent prodded for it. Something long and viscous dangled from the nape of his neck, streaked in blood and amniotic fluid. He gasped in terror as he beheld the Sleeper’s pale limb, sprouted from his own burst flesh.He tucked the offending appendage under his headdress and hurried through the temple, past the moaning females begging for their new god to return, to grace them with his seed. He growled in barely contained rage at this defilement of the tribe and hurried past, to where Condor was sprawled in a pool of blood in a dark corner, unheeded by anyone. His mask had fallen off his grayed face and his snout and forehead were a ghastly pulp. Ichor and brain matter ran down the wall from where he had shattered his own skull.“We will find a new elder,” Death Inevitable whispered behind him, the Sleeper’s limb grown from his neck gently touching Serpent’s shoulder. "But first, the Sleeper. Can’t you feel it?“Serpent nodded as shivers ran down his spine. The Sleeper was furious. First they had fed it an impure, hollowed shell of a woman. Then it had spent some of its precious power to free them from the outsider’s spell. It demanded praise. It demanded food. The Sleeper demanded a sacrifice.Serpent exchanged a long look with Death Inevitable. "Didn’t Condor, rest his soul, say there were strangers approaching?”“He did. We must bless Brother Condor with the funerary rites quickly, so that we can find these new outsiders.”Between the broken stone walls, Tsonia strolled openly, waiting to be challenged by a sentry. She had followed the path T'pek had indicated to the outskirts of the ancient ruins that his tribe called home. When no challenge came, she continued on towards the temple where he said the elders would gather.It was possible, she knew, that she was being watched. T'pek and his people were nearly invisible in the lush jungle foliage when they wanted to be. Much of the jungle had encroached on the overgrown stonework so there might have been eyes anywhere. If they were there, Tsonia could not see them. What she did see were abandoned tools and utensils, lying discarded as if their owners might return at any moment. As she made her way across the village square and deeper into the ruins, it felt more and more like walking through a town that had been hastily abandoned ahead of an invading army.She saw the antediluvian temple rising out of the green, towering above the village. It was just as T'pek had described it. It could be seen from anywhere in the village, she merely had to find her way through the disorganized warren of crumbling stone and twisted vines.Tsonia mounted a set of steps between a hut roofed with animal hides and another with browning palm fronds and emerged on a wider avenue than the path she had left. She stopped short, and very nearly retreated a step, for scattered before her were dozens upon dozens of the native beastkin. They made no effort to conceal themselves, lounging and slouching on the steps and rubble that surrounded the temple. Several of the men saw her, but none bothered to rise.She approached them cautiously, sword in hand, and yet still none seemed alarmed by her presence.“Who speaks the outsider tongue?” she called to the assembled throng. None answered. Tsonia picked her way among them and while some watched her pass and some even stared, they did not try to stop her. They seemed listless and enervated as if by hunger or thirst, yet there was food and water aplenty in the village.Another surprise awaited her when she saw a clear separation of the men and women of the tribe. The women were clustered closer around the temple wall, and unlike the men they seemed agitated and anxious.“Who speaks the outsider tongue?” she asked again, hoping to arouse a response.“I do.” said a clear, strong voice from above her. Tsonia looked up, as did every other face in the crowd.There at the entrance to the temple, stood her quarry, Kelgore, resplendent in multi-colored robes of leather and plumes. He was flanked by a pair of burly, green-furred beastkin guards wielding long boar-spears. Kelgore himself appeared unarmed.“But Thelyrian is so much more civilized, don’t you think?” he asked.“What have you done to them?” Tsonia demanded.“I merely asked them to wait on me. When I wish for anything at all, they fall all over themselves to provide. I’m their new god you see.”“When was the last time they ate?”A curious expression crossed Kelgore’s face. In another man, it might have been embarrassment at the oversight or perhaps even guilt. In Kelgore it seemed more like irritation.“You six there,” Kelgore gestured, looking down with glassy black eyes at a knot of the idle men, “Prepare food and drink. Feed everyone.” In his voice, Tsonia heard an odd resonance that sent a shiver up her spine. The six beastkin leapt to their feet and dashed off into the village towards the abandoned cookfires.“You see? They worship me. They live to serve.”“How very nice for you,” Tsonia said, starting slowly up the last flight of steps to the temple door, sword in hand.And suddenly she was back on the bottom step, her hands empty, the sword slung at her side. She had no memory of descending, nor of sheathing the sword. Tsonia bit back her anger.Kelgore smiled. “Tell me Red Tsonia, before I bid you welcome to my kingdom, have you come to kill me?”“Honestly, I expected to find that the natives had eaten you,” she lied. “I’m a little surprised to see you doing so well for yourself, and I’m starting to see why the God-King fears you so.”“Perhaps I could entice you to change sides?”“Perhaps you could.”“Then approach, Red Tsonia, and be welcomed.” Kelgore waved his guards back a step and extended a beckoning hand. “I shall have a feast prepared in your honor. But first come and meet my court. I have a, um, proposal that I think you’ll find rewarding.”Tsonia climbed the stairs and took the hand he offered. Kelgore led her into his throne room, his two guards never more than a short pounce behind him. The cool tile floors were covered with thick hides. The sunlight, through open gaps in the ancient ceiling scattered pools of light and shadow. In the center of the room sat a crude divan covered in supple leather and stains that appeared fresh.Joras and Ambrose were there, sitting on a pair of smaller settees, picking at platters of fruit held by naked beastkin girls. Joras sat up with a start.“Red Tsonia, we thought you drowned!” he cheered. Tsonia worried his enthusiasm was a bit forced, but Kelgore didn’t seem to notice. “How ever did you survive?”“Much the way you did, I suspect.” she answered putting a bit of cold distance in her voice. “It’s 'Joras’, right? And, 'Ambrose’ I believe?”Ambrose nodded. “Welcome to a very exclusive club of survivors, Tsonia,” he said without getting up. “I suspect you may come to enjoy being marooned here in Kelgore’s kingdom.”“Yes.” She cast an approving glance at Kelgore, taking his measure. “Yes, I suspect I may.”There was a commotion at the door and everyone turned to see two strapping beastkin carrying in a roughly crafted wooden settee, similar to the couches Joras and Ambrose enjoyed. Behind them, T'pek came, bearing a heavy roll of thick, wooly hides to drape as padding. Tsonia recognized the familiar scarring across his chest and spared him only the briefest glance.His hand was held with fingers crossed, the prearranged signal that all was in readiness.“Come, come! Over there,” Kelgore gestured to the natives, directing them to set the new furniture between Joras and Ambrose, giving Tsonia a position of importance between them. “Set that down and be quick about it.”Joras lounged with an arm stretched across the chair back. He too had his fingers crossed.Ambrose did not. A brief anxiety flashed up Tsonia’s spine. She risked a longer look and when she caught his eye with a questioning cock of her eyebrow, with a sigh of reluctance Ambrose crossed his fingers as wellShe had the signal ready on her lips. All she had to do was speak it.“Your majesty, I believe you said you had a, um, proposal for me?” She crossed in front of him with more sway in her hips than a ripe Debon maiden. She turned and perched herself on the edge of his throne drawing concerned scowls from his guards and a knowing smile from the King himself. “If you have something to say then, now is the time”On her word, T'pek unfurled the roll of hides with a snap sending the head of Shala tumbling across the floor to come to rest at the feet of her astonished son.“Kill her, you fool! It’s a trap!” screamed the witch’s severed head, just as Tsonia hoped she might.No matter how enchanted Kelgore’s guards, that sight could not fail to rattle them. It would give Joras and Ambrose the precious second they needed to aim the short reeds that the natives used as blowguns. Not much longer than a man’s hand, the weapons were easily concealed. T'pek had found a cache of them at the hunting camp, along with the darts and a clay jar of the sleeping poison. Joras and Ambrose had practiced with them for hours.Tsonia was already on the fly, launching herself off the divan sword in hand, trusting her companions to deal with the guards quickly and without bloodshed. One well-placed strike would take Kelgore’s head and end his tyrannical reign over these people.Kelgore ducked her blow, recovering from the shock of his mother’s appearance with more composure than Tsonia expected. Nonetheless, T'pek would be on him in an instant. Tsonia whirled on the would-be king to follow up her first attack and suddenly felt her feet fly out from under her.She hit the hide-carpeted stone floor hard. Instinctively she rolled away from a follow up attack by what she assumed must have been the long spear of one of the guards. Seizing that momentum, Tsonia sprang to her feet and saw Joras, T'pek, and Ambrose unmoved from their places, still and passive.She turned to see Kelgore’s still very much alert guards advancing on her, and Kelgore himself grinning as if he was particularly proud of himself. Raising her sword with a primal scream of fury, Tsonia charged.And she was on her knees, wrists bound behind her back, her neck tethered to her knees, and the points of two spears pressed to her shoulders. Tsonia clawed through her memory for some recollection of how she had been bested and she found nothing.“Really my dear, did you think that would work?” Kelgore asked. He lounged on his breeding throne with his mother settled comfortably by his side. The long spears of his guards held his betrothed prisoner, bent double on her knees before him. Her allies stood by, waiting for his instructions. They would stand there waiting until they starved to death if he so willed it.“You have never respected the power I procured for my son," gloated Shala. "And now you shall die for your arrogance.”“Don’t be hasty, mother,” Kelgore admonished. He had no intention of slaying his future bride, despite his mother’s opinions. “I think she may yet come around, if given a proper demonstration.”The vixen-warrior on the floor in front of him strained against her bonds with a scream, even as the spear points pierced her flesh, raising drops of black blood that trickled down her shoulders and fell hissing to the floor.“Their rope is really quite strong, isn’t it?” Kelgore asked, amused by her efforts. “It was your beastly lover there who trussed you up so securely.” Tsonia looked up and shot a glance at the scar-ridden beastman who stood nearby.“Oh, don’t feel betrayed. He really didn’t have any choice. In fact, I think that he is the one who should feel betrayed. Did you really promise to bear him pups? You must know that your demon-blessed womb will never bear mortal fruit.”“Then why do you seek to make my barren loins your own?” Tsonia hissed up at him. Her vibrant hair hung lank in her face as she strained against her bonds to meet his gaze. She really had learned nothing.“Enough of this!” insisted Shala. “Kill her now and be done with it! This boasting is beneath you. You should be ordering these savages to build you a boat, not wasting time fawning over this whore.”“Silence, mother!” he spat. He was proud of the kingdom he had built here, but nothing would be good enough for his mother until the God-King lay dead at his feet. She had no appreciation for the finer things in life that his demon-gifted powers could provide. She could make him so angry sometimes.Kelgore drew a knife from his belt, toyed with it for a moment while eyeing his mother’s head. She returned his glare, but said nothing. He took a moment to steady himself before looking at the younger of Tsonia’s allies and calling “Joras, come take this knife.”“What are you doing? Leave him alone!” snapped Tsonia, straining again at her bonds.“Yes, your loyal follower,” Kelgore observed. “Perhaps the only person you really care about. Your memory and his both tell me how much he means to you, and what destruction you might rain if not for his companionship.”“Kelgore, I swear to every god on either side of the veil,” Tsonia hissed at him through clenched teeth, “if you hurt him there is no hell with a pit deep enough to hide you from my wrath.” Her bonds groaned with the effort of containing her fury and the spear point dug deeper into her shoulders.“No, no, no. You’ve got it all wrong.” Kelgore waved away the absurd idea and stood from his throne, forcing Tsonia to struggle even harder to look at him. He turned to the young artist, knowing that if there was any leverage over Red Tsonia to be found, this man was the fulcrum.“Joras,” he said. "Kill Ambrose.“The young man in the horrid orange cloak turned on his lover, who stood motionless and indifferent. If there was fear in the older man’s soul, Kelgore could not yet see it in his eyes."No!” Tsonia screamed. "Joras! Stop! Joras, fight it! Fight him! Stop, Joras, please!“But there was no stopping a command once Kelgore had issued it with the full force of his will behind it. Indeed, Kelgore doubted even he could have stayed Joras’s hand now. The man moved with deliberate speed and with one strike, he stabbed Ambrose through the heart.The sea captain looked up with a gasp. Now Kelgore could see the shock and terror in his eyes. A tear rolled down Ambrose’s cheek as he took Joras’s face in his hands. If Ambrose spoke, he was too quiet for Kelgore to hear over Tsonia’s screams of protest. Ambrose pressed his forehead to Joras’s and caressed the scruff of his lover’s chin. Then he fell to his knees and died.Joras stood over Ambroses’s body for but a moment, the dagger held limp in his hand. Kelgore saw the familiar twitch as his puppet's will returned. Joras finally heard Tsonia screaming. He looked around trying to remember where he was. Then he looked down at the dagger in his bloody hand, and past it to the man lying in a spreading crimson pool at his feet.Joras dropped the blade and collapsed sobbing over Ambrose. Kelgore smiled at the agony in the man’s voice as he begged the still-warm corpse for forgiveness.The king knelt next to Tsonia to make it easier for his betrothed to hear his words. When she refused to meet his eye, he took her by the chin and turned her tear-streaked face towards his."You have my word, darling Tsonia,” he said. “I will never kill your friend. But if you continue to defy me, You will.”Tsonia clenched her eyes closed and jerked away from his touch.Kelgore would give his lesson a moment to sink in. He stood and turned to Tsonia’s beastly ex-lover. “You there,” he made a dismissive gesture towards Joras. “Take him away and lock him someplace secure.”The brute easily hefted Joras onto his shoulder and carried him out of the throne room, the howls of lamentation eventually fading in the distance. The king resumed his throne, beckoned a naked serving girl bearing a platter of fruit, and selected a morsel that looked tasty. He noted with a smile that his prisoners’ struggles had ceased.“Now then, Red Tsonia, or, may I call you Kaela?, my proposal,” he began. “You will bear me a host of children. With our demon-blessed powers combined, our offspring will grow to be the most powerful warriors this world has ever seen. They will be the officers who will lead an army of my loyal bastards against the so-called God-King of Xhastria.”Tsonia said nothing.“I’ll take your acceptance as granted. What do you think of that, mother?”“I think you waste decades on what should be a simple conquest," sneered Shala."There is no pleasing you, woman.” Kelgore’s brow furrowed and he wondered how long he could forestall his mother’s restoration ritual. If he could deny her pure blood tonight, she would have to begin the process all over from the beginning.He was contemplating excuses when there was a rush of movement in the far corner of the temple. Snake-face and Skull-face appeared from a darkened passageway that led deeper into the temple than Kelgore had cared to explore. Holy men were always so intractable in their routines. But no matter, he had need of them now.“There you are.” He stood to address the shamans as they hastily approached. “I have grand news. I am to be wed! My bride has arrived at last!” He gestured to Tsonia, bound at spear point on the floor. “Prepare a ceremony fit for your god.”The two elders stopped short. They turned and looked at each other, their expressions hidden behind those damned masks. Kelgore would have removed them, but a holy man in his raiment was so efficient at inspiring compliance from those Kelgore could not turn directly.“It, is good,” said Snake-face at last, using the pidgin Trade Tongue.“We have a, holy place below,” added Skull-face. "Very special. It is only best for our god’s wedding.“"That sounds perfect,” Kelgore agreed. “Find Bird-face and make the preparations. I wish to be married at once.”Snake-face hurried out of the temple, no doubt to fetch whatever sacred vestments he required and to arrange for the wedding feast. Skull-face turned back the way he had come to prepare their most sacred chapel until Kelgore called “Wait!”Skull-face turned around slowly.Kelgore picked up his mother’s head from his throne, strode purposely across the room and handed her to the shaman. “Find someplace secret and quiet to keep this,” Kelgore told him.“Kelgore?’ his mother barked. "What are you doing? Unhand me, you savage charlatan!”“Can’t have you spoiling my wedding night, mother. I’ll see you in a couple of days.”Kelgore bounced back onto his throne and selected another piece of fruit from the girl’s tray as the witch’s screams of invective faded into the darkness. He almost felt sorry for poor Skull-face having to endure her bile. But the savage couldn’t understand a word of it anyway, so it was alright.He looked down at Tsonia, still seething quietly on the floor in front of his throne. “Cheer up, my love!” he taunted her. “Today is the happiest day of your life!”Joras barely noticed where T'pek was carrying him. He didn’t really care either. The enormity of what he had done was threatening to swallow him like a gaping, black maelstrom.He had killed Ambrose.Somehow he had rammed a Vizingian dagger straight into his lover’s heart. And he did not remember doing it. But there was no mistaking the crimson pool surrounding the still body, the look of odd reverie on his bearded features.He had killed Ambrose.There had been long stretches of time when their paths had led them to wander or sail different parts of the world, but when they met, it always was a joyous occasion, much like returning to a safe harbor after a grueling storm. Ambrose was a fierce lover, a wise friend and sometimes even a devilish jester, one of the few people to rile up Tsonia without incurring her wrath. Ambrose was one of the few people to talk some sense into Tsonia when her mind was ablaze with tales of mad adventures, with visions of gold or glory too large even for her to take on, a welcome ally indeed.Now he was gone, struck down by Joras’ own hand.Hot tears spilled down his cheeks, blinding his vision. Suddenly, the world tilted around him and he crumpled to an uneven stone floor, sharp ridges and cracked tiles biting into his knees and ribs and elbows. Behind him, a heavy door banged shut. Joras did not care. If the gods were indeed just, he would die and be reunited with Ambrose.He raised his voice in lamentation for his friend, but only a choked sob escaped him.A horrid, wheezing cough answered him. Wherever he was, Joras was not alone. Mustering what little strength he had, the artist scrabbled into a sitting position, using his sleeve to dab at his swollen eyes and puffy nose. When his vision cleared, he found himself on the floor of a dilapidated room. The walls were at least twenty feet high and made from ancient stone. Parts of the ceiling had crumbled eons ago, leaving a gaping hole which someone had patched with a latticework of wooden beams and sharpened stakes jutting downwards. There was no furniture, just a stone plinth. A shaggy, disheveled bundle lay atop it. As he watched, a spindly, pale-skinned arm shot from the bundle, snatching one of the ever-present tiny rodents. The cough came again as the bundle struggled into a sitting position.Despite his own anguish, Joras gasped in horror. What he had taken for a bundle of skin and fur was a man like himself, emaciated and unkempt, with white-golden hair and a similar beard covering most of his chest. He wore a vest and kilt made from once white fur, now yellowed and ragged and large enough to fit a man twice the stranger’s size. An elaborate belt buckle made from gold and bronze, shaped like crossed axes, seemed utterly out of place in this dismal hell.A third time the stranger coughed, still clutching the squirming rodent. Ignoring Joras, the stranger raised the furry morsel to his mouth and bit into it until the rodent’s panicked squeals finally ended. He tore into the tiny animal, blood running down his beard until he discarded the shredded carcass. The stranger spat a clump of fur and coughed again.“Who, are you?” Joras asked, torn between pity and revulsion. The stranger seemed ill and close to death. The stench emanating from him was eye-watering.The stranger gulped and worked his mouth. Eventually, he spoke. It took Joras some time to recognize the strange vowels of Debon’s tongue. The stranger patted his chest, leaving ghastly fingerprints on his vest.“Aelric,” he muttered. “I am, Aelric.”To be continued in Part 5.By Blind_Justice & Loqui Sordida for Literotica.

A Bridge of AdversityA 5-part story By Blind_Justice & Loqui Sordida Ad Me. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.The sky was still dark when they dragged Unami from her hut. A plump midwife, purring quietly, carried her newborn, Kra'ar, away while the hunters herded her up the steep ascent to the ancient temple. Unami was too exhausted from giving birth, too tired to bite and claw, so she let them do as they pleased.Through the great hall they went, empty save for the fire pit in the center and the twisted columns trying to stem the weight of the temple’s crumbling roof, down into a chamber she had never seen before. A singular oil lamp provided scant illumination, barely enough to see the carvings adorning every inch of the walls. Gaping maws, unblinking eyes leveling accusing stares, and half-formed limbs danced along the frieze.She clutched her aching belly and lashed the hunters to either side of her with an imperious stare. “Kra'ar needs me,” she growled. “I must feed my son.”Stone doors on the opposite side of the room opened, the towering slates scratching along the floor with some reluctance. Three elders emerged, their grayed whiskers and blunt snouts hidden behind ornate golden masks, their heads bloated and deformed by feathered headdresses. Long, colorful robes had been wrought around their slumping shoulders and withered groins.“What do you want from me at this hour?” Unami barked, masking her fear with feigned rage. She bared her teeth, a challenge rising in her throat. Her growl echoed off the carved walls. Unami slapped the hunters’ claws away and stood alone, shaking like a defiant, storm-tossed reed.“Silence!” one of the elders barked. The mask he wore was the sharp-beaked Condor, keen eyes and mighty wings. “Do you not grasp the gravity of your situation, whelp?”“Who do you call a whelp, you decrepit fossil?” Unami snarled. “I have just delivered my firstborn! I have seen the jungle! I have-”“You have stolen our sacred treasure and given it to an outsider!” the second elder roared. His mask showed the Serpent, venomous fangs and crushing strength. “Once they realize what can be found here, they will come and demand more and more! First they will bring honeyed words and lies, then they will bring warriors and weapons!”“Ha!” Unami spat. “First they would have to cross the jungle. Don’t you teach that only the strong, only the hunters can brave the hostile wilderness? How many outsiders will perish on the journey? How many of them will be able to even lift a weapon if they even find us? How many will be able to stand against our fierce warriors?”“Insolent child,” the third elder hissed. He wore a skull, the guise of Death Inevitable. “Traditions and rules have a reason. Your reckless actions prove why not every member of the tribe can be a hunter. Strength has to be tempered by wisdom, fury tempered by mercy. Your brash disregard of the rules clearly shows you are nothing more than a foolish whelp still, unfit to walk among the adults!”“I have followed the rules. I came back to give the tribe another hunter. What else do you want from me?”“Kra'ar will be well-fed and taken care of,” Condor proclaimed. “But your penance has only just begun.”“Normally we would bind you in stones and drown you in the swamp, as befits a lowly thief,” Condor said.“But the volcano’s awakening has roused The Sleeper,” Serpent said. “Someone has to placate him. This is a task for a woman. You have been chosen as penance for your transgression.”“What? No. I will go into exile. I will return to Aelric! I want to see the frozen water come from the sky!” Unami howled.“I am afraid you won’t leave the temple, foolish, insolent child,” Death Inevitable whispered. “Giving birth to a hunter does not absolve your sins. It is your solemn duty to the tribe. But if you can placate The Sleeper, all will be forgiven.”“All will be forgiven,” the other two rumbled. Condor bowed his head and the hunters grasped her shivering arms.“Placate The Sleeper? I am no priestess!” Unami wailed. “What am I to do?”Death Inevitable crossed the chamber, reaching into the gaping maw of a hideous stone effigy. His paw depressed the sculpted tongue within and the floor opened before her like a ravenous maw.“Deliver her,” Serpent said, motioning for the pit. The air wafting from the orifice smelled wrong. Sweet and thick was the scent, causing her ravaged sex to weep in heat.The hunters first dragged, then shoved her forwards. Unami stumbled into the pit and fell. Like every member of the tribe she knew how to fall, even if her weakened body was slow and clumsy. Instead of breaking her legs, she curled up into a ball and dropped onto a slope of smooth stone. There were no holds, no purchase for her claws or scrabbling feet. Unami slid frantically into the lightless depths underneath the temple. Above her, the floor rumbled closed.The slope curled downward like the blasted serpent before delivering her into a lightless space that she judged huge by the sound of emptiness. The sweet stench was thicker here. Her teats ached and her sex seemed to overflow. Her breath threw shuddering echoes from the far walls.Blind like a newborn, Unami pawed on all fours, trying to earn a feel for this space. The floor was made from stone, large, regular tiles neatly fitted. The tip of her tail still touched the slope and there was no wall in easy reach. She took another step. Her paw landed on a bone. Unami gritted her teeth. She would not grant the elders the satisfaction of hearing her scream. She pulled the bone closer. It was long and stout. It would make a fine club.There was a soft noise ahead, a shy rustling.A grim smile stole onto Unami’s lips. If there were animals down here, they would probably be as blind as she was and easily hunted. At least she wouldn’t starve.“Come, come, little ratty,” Unami sang. “Mother has need of you.”The rustling came again, closer now. Using her sensitive ears, Unami aimed and swung the bone with murderous intent.There was swift movement, a powerful whiff of that sticky, sweet air. The cudgel hit the floor with crushing force and splintered into a thousand pieces like a hollowed twig.More rustling. Four, five sounds of movement at once. Unami bared her claws and teeth. How many rats were there?Something long and serpentine curled around her leg. It was soft and wet and moved with shocking speed, coiling around her calf and knee.Then came a jolt and she was unceremoniously dropped on her back. All Unami could do was to protect her head by twisting her spine and curling up as best she could. The impact cracked a few ribs and her elbows.Gasping in the thick, clingy vapors, she slapped at the soft, writhing tissue grasping her leg. Another tendril came, slick and wet and it curled around her other leg. With inexorable force, they pried her thighs apart. Shrieking, Unami clamped both hands over her gaping sex - to no avail. Another tendril came, binding her wrists and yanking her hands aside with contemptuous ease.She wasn’t sure if the fall had rocked her head or if she really heard it, but there was a low, growling noise. It grew louder and louder, mounting in front of her. She couldn’t see! She could only hear the noise, writhe as the tendrils slithered over her. No, not over, but into her! One, then two invaded her, probing at her ravaged insides.The gurgling stopped on a strange note. For one breathless moment Unami thought to hear a wordless question. The disgusting tendrils withdrew from her insides, leaving her spread open and shivering in the chamber’s rank air.Then the noise returned, loud and angry and so very close.A mighty weight settled onto her helpless body, covering her feet, legs, belly, chest and finally her snout. She sank her teeth into soft, warm tissue, tearing long, weeping gashes into malleable flesh. The noise changed as hitherto closed orifices gaped, adding a horrific wheezing to the cacophony.Unami added her own incoherent screams as acid poured from numerous maws, burning her limbs, dissolving her helpless body until nothing remained but a sweet-smelling puddle of goo.The Sleeper lapped at it, a satisfied purr echoing off the walls.Shala’s patience grew thin. What hope of finding Kelgore had she if these fools that carried her fell victim to some easily avoided calamity and left her stranded in this gods-forsaken wilderness?She had tumbled from the whore’s back as the claws of a dead man seized the crude pack full of carrion and tore it away. She could not see how her captors fared against the undead horde until the fop had knocked her aside to hastily gather the scattered meat and supplies.The buffoon’s man and the traitor both fell to the horde of corpses that had dragged themselves from the haunted swamp. Shala feared for a moment that all of her captors might perish and leave her stranded in the mud. But the whore fought bravely and well. With axe and sword she hacked a path through the grasping hands of the hungry dead. The fop followed in her wake and the buffoon held a lackluster rearguard.Almost as an afterthought, he reached down and plucked her out of the muck by her hair. The leather strap that secured her gag shifted, but only slightly.It would have been so easy to turn back the horde with just the right words of power and a bit of fire and flesh. But it would require hands that Shala did not yet have.She watched as the buffoon’s sword lodged in the ribs of a flanking corpse and the thing reached for him with rotting hands. She tried to scream in furious protest as the impudent fool swung her like a flail, slamming her skull against the head of the accursed ghoul. Through some intervention of the fate spinners, the impact knocked her gag askew.Working her tongue and jaw, Shala was finally able to spit out the shard of wood and let the leather strap fall away, just as the buffoon tucked her up under his arm.Shala nearly cried out at the insolence, but then she caught a tantalizing whiff of blood. There was a gash on the buffoon’s arm. The blood coagulated against her cheek, but her tongue could not reach. She was jostled in his grip as the buffoon ran limping after his companions, stumbling and fumbling blindly through the jungle boscage. Bit by bit she shifted until she could press her thin lips right to the wound, and taste the ferric tang on her tongue.“You can stop now,” Shala called out, once she had lapped her fill of the buffoon’s essence. “Do you hear me? You’ve fled beyond the reach of the dead.”“And why should we believe you?” asked the whore, panting. Before Shala could answer, the whore added “Joras, find another gag.”“Because if you die then I am abandoned out here. Do you think this is how I wish to end my existence? Lying in the muck, helpless as the scavengers pick at my flesh until nothing is left? My only chance at life is if you reunite me with my son. While you may well choose to slay me once my usefulness is done, I’ll take a slim chance over no chance at all, and help you where I can.”The fop scoffed. “And what help can a disembodied witch offer?”“While you dithered at a crossroads, I felt the jungle life fade away before the great predator that stalked you. And you ignored my warnings,” Shala spat.“I alone recognized the rancid scent of death tinged with the ozone of magic and knew the undead were nearby. But again you ignored me and two of your number paid for your negligence with their lives. How many more will die because a reckless whore refuses to heed my counsel?”“Your point is made,” the whore growled. “There is no need for more insults.”“Oh, do my words hurt your poor little pride? Perhaps you’d feel better if you were gagged and hauled around like chattel.” The whore glowered at her, but did not retort. “I have eyes to see and senses attuned to powers from beyond the veil. Give me a mouth to speak and heed my counsel and your chances of living to find Kelgore will improve! You’ve lost two pairs of eyes already. Are you so foolish as to throw away a third?”“I don’t trust it or its counsel,” the whore said. Being referred to so coarsely would have raised the bile in Shala’s throat, if she had bile, or more than an inch of throat. She let the insult pass.“Neither do I,” agreed the buffoon. “But I have known many men I did not trust, and I have never known it to be a lie when a man says ‘I want to live’.”“Our resources are few enough,” the fop agreed. “I don’t think we’d be any worse off if she betrays us.”“Fine,” agreed the whore through gritted teeth. “But if you lead us into danger, I shall smash you with a rock before I die. Understood?”“Agreed." Shala swallowed her pride."Unless our new advisor knows of a safer camp, I think we should get some rest,” the whore decided. “Joras, skin our dinner. Ambrose, see if you can spark a fire. I’ll gather you some wood. Shala…” she paused as if it pained her to speak the words. “You’re on watch.”In the distance, from every direction, the drums continued.In the chamber above The Sleeper’s lair, Condor sighed. “One malnourished whelp won’t do, you know?”Death Inevitable touched his golden forehead. “The Sleeper is mightily displeased indeed. Unami was but a morsel for it.”“At least his hunger will be sated for the moment,” Serpent muttered. “We might find a bit of respite tonight.”Together, the elders returned to the great hall. The rumble of the drums was loud and clear, reverberating from the walls.Condor cocked his head. “A hunting party returns. They have brought an outsider.”“Fortunate tidings indeed,” Serpent said, a smile in his voice. “The Sleeper might feast again shortly.”“Let us see what the hunters have brought then,” Death Inevitable purred. “Hopefully this new sacrifice will send The Sleeper back to sleep. I dread the day when the temple and the offerings can’t contain its might no longer. The Sleeper might devour reality itself.”“If it is an outsider woman, we should avail ourselves of her services before tossing her into the Pit,” Condor said. “To make sure The Sleeper will be properly serviced, of course.”Chuckling softly, the elders headed for the exit, eager to meet their next sacrifice.As dawn broke, they strode into the village. Hunters prepared for another expedition into the jungle, sharpening their spears or wrapping rations. Passing females, their young scurrying between their feet, offered bows of respect. The midwife clutched Unami’s newborn to her bosom, allowing the pale blond whelp to suck at her teat.“Let’s hope the outsider was strong,” Death Inevitable muttered. “His offspring looks disgusting, so pale.”“We will see in a few years’ time,” Serpent said. “Ah, there they are.” He gestured towards a tangle of tribesmen, clustered around the hunting party. Adults and whelps alike muttered among themselves.“As if they’ve seen an outsider for the first time,” Death Inevitable murmured. “How different can they be?”The knot of tribesmen split, allowing the elders their first glance at the outsider. He stood unbound, surrounded by three hunters who gazed upon him in open admiration. The fourth, a female, had her tail raised high, the scent of her cunt announcing to all downwind how desperate in need of a thorough railing she was. The outsider was odd. Too scrawny to be a warrior, he nonetheless bore himself with the stance of a chieftain. What little fur he wore on his head was long, slick and the color of night. But most odd were his eyes, featureless black orbs of night. He raised his voice, speaking the strange words of the outsiders. None understood the strange syllables he used, but all felt the power radiating through his voice. It commanded their full attention. Transfixed, the elders, the tribesmen, the women and whelps watched, their gazes fixed on the strange man. Each one of them he bathed in his obsidian gaze and one by one they became his unquestioning servants. Not even the Sleeper could help them now.“Stop it!” Ambrose screamed into the night. “Stop the fucking drumming all day and all fucking night. Just fucking stop it!”The distant drum beat continued unabated by the outburst. The sonorous rhythm had followed them from the beach, through the jungle, surrounding them, moving with them like the stench of a beggar. They had tried more than once to follow the sound and find one of the natives, but always the drum they approached fell silent and a distant drum joined the chorus.“What do you want?!” Ambrose continued, stalking from one edge of their campfire light to the other, yelling into the darkness at the top of his voice. “Do you want us to go? Do you want us to follow? We don’t know what the drums mean! We use words! Do you hear me? Words! Show yourselves and tell us what you want! Kill us or capture us if you must, but for the love of all that is holy, stop the gods-damned drumming!”His injured foot throbbed. His whole body ached. Nicks and cuts and lacerations bedeviled his face and arms after being thrashed through the underbrush by that slavering beast. The midges and mites of the swamp had fed on him mercilessly and if it hadn’t been for Tsonia and Joras, the shambling dead would have finished him, just as they had poor Montu and Sethos. Ambrose was a man of the sea. The perils of this mad and alien landscape perturbed his senses and flustered his wits.“It’s not even good drumming, damn it!” Ambrose saw Tsonia and Joras scowling in the firelight at his agitated pacing. He didn’t know if his ranting had awakened them, or if they like he had laid awake, unable to sleep with the constant racket. “A poxy toddler banging on his mother’s pot with a spoon can come up with a more inventive rhythm! But not you lot, no! Your primitive fucking brains can’t come up with anything more original than just bum bum bum over and over and over again and again and again!”He grabbed up a heavy stick from their dwindling pile of firewood and banged it back and forth in a forked tree trunk, bang, bang, bang, in time to the distant drums’ cadence.“You hear that? Huh? How do you like it? How about if I keep it up all fucking night so you can’t sleep?”“Peace, Ambrose,” Joras implored, rising to soothe his friend’s discomfiture. “This raving does no good and it wastes the vitality you’ll want for tomorrow.”“I don’t care!” Ambrose screamed, and continued to beat the tree trunk. “I don’t fucking care anymore. I want them to stop or to show themselves or to attack us or something! Anything! Anything but this infernal drumming! It makes me wish I had drowned, Joras! I would rather die with the sound of the sea in my ears than live another hour beset by this ceaseless racket.”“I know it’s trying,”“Trying!? It’s maddening! This whole damn place is maddening!” Ambrose’s arm gave out at last and he let fall the stave from his hand even as he collapsed to his knees with a sob of exasperation. “Why won’t you stop!?” he cried again into the darkness. "Why won’t you show yourselves!?“"You are loud,” grunted a coarse voice in the simple words of the Trade Tongue used among sailors. Into the firelight stepped a tall native, his mottled green fur broken in places by ancient scars. His hands, though tipped with razor sharp claws, were empty, and held out in a gesture of parley.Tsonia, lithe as a panther, came to her feet with blade in hand, ready to smite the intruder. The towering, beast-headed native dodged and came to face Tsonia, still empty-handed. A leather bandolier bisected his broad chest. Spears and a pack rested on his back while a woven cord around his waist was hung with pouches, a sling and dagger and a simple loincloth.“We will fight,” he growled. “First, I will make the drums quiet for your loud friend.”The fire-haired warrior stayed her blade, curious to see what the newcomer would do next. “Slow,” she told him, speaking the same pidgin trade language. “I am watching.”The native bared his fangs, his ears perking up. Tsonia wasn’t sure if he was threatening her or if that was the stranger’s idea of a grin. Slowly, he reached for the pack he had slung over his back and placed it on the ground in front of him.“Watch,” the stranger said, kneeling. He opened a flap and pulled a small drum from his pack, which he struck in a certain rhythm, bam, bam, rap. He repeated the cadence, then again. And around them, the drums echoed the new beat, and fell silent. In the distance, the sonorous rumble continued, but in their immediate vicinity, there was nothing but the wind rustling in the trees and the occasional chirp of surprised nighttime birds.“What did you, say?” Joras asked, intrigued. Next to him, Ambrose sighed. The exhausted sailor settled down with his back against a tree, and despite his curiosity his head fell onto his chest almost immediately.The native offered Joras the same strange visage, open jaws and hanging tongue. “I found what I want. I need quiet to, see, watch, find,” he seemed to be searching for a word.“Hunt?" Joras asked, backing away from the beastman."Yes. Hunt.” the stranger agreed. “They are quiet. They will listen.”“Hunt, eh?” Tsonia sneered. “Will you, make us sick with, small spears?” She held up a finger and thumb spaced about two inches apart to show how small the darts were. Tsonia also struggled to find appropriate words in a vocabulary meant for trade and barter, but she lowered neither her guard nor the sword.The stranger sank onto his haunches, his dark eyes reflecting the flickering flames of the campfire. “No small spears. I am proud. I do not hunt with small spears.”“Your people are not proud two yesterdays,” Tsonia growled. The Trade Tongue didn’t concern itself with such lofty concepts as the past or the future. It was a language for discussing the here and now. “They hunt me with small spears by the good water. They make me sick.”“My tribe who hunt are not smart two yesterdays. Many outsiders come to our beaches and cannot leave again over many moons. My tribe thinks you are weak and not smart, like the other outsiders.”So they were not the first sailors to be marooned on these shores, Tsonia realized. Clearly the native had learned the Trade Tongue from somewhere, so castaways must be fairly common. It did not bode well for them that none had ever returned to tell the story of this place.The stranger hissed several times in quick succession. Maybe a laugh?“You kill two of my tribe. They know they made a mistake so they choose to hunt easy outsiders.” His eyes roamed over Tsonia and she could hear his satisfied purr. “I hunt you.”Tsonia raised an eyebrow. “Me?”“Two of my tribe are dead. I want, the death price.”Tsonia sighed. He wanted revenge for the two natives she had killed. The stranger before her was no savage. He obviously had intelligence and honor, perhaps even wisdom. But she didn’t have the vocabulary to explain such a complex situation, much less negotiate a peaceful solution.“Joras, you’re better with words than I,” she said in their native Thelyrian. “Tell him I killed two of his kind while driven half mad by their poison in my veins. Ask him why he thinks he can beat me now when I have my wits fully about me.”There was a struggle over words as Joras and the stranger exchanged the terms they knew and agreed to what they meant. Tsonia was beginning to regret involving her friend in the conversation. As her patience grew thin, he seemed to be enjoying the give and take and the accomplishment of finally conveying the whole idea.Again, the stranger laughed. “I watch you yesterday and two yesterdays, fire-hair. I watch you fight. I watch you walk far. You are tired, so I offer a bargain.”“Kaela…” Joras implored in Thelyrian, his voice laden with dread. “Don’t do anything foolish, please.”“I haven’t agreed to anything just yet.” Tsonia snorted in exasperation. “Are you blaming me for our misery too?”“I would never-” Joras began.“Let him talk then,” Tsonia snapped. “And don’t call me Kaela in front of everyone!”The stranger placed his clawed hand upon his chest. “I am called T'pek.” His voice, although struggling with the Trade Tongue, had a formal, almost ritualistic tone about it.Tsonia bowed her head. “I am called Red Tsonia. What do you offer?”“I ask you to fight, Red Tsonia. You owe me two hunters.”“You-kill-me is not equal to two hunters. They will not live if I die,” Tsonia said. It was another hard concept to convey, but she’d be damned if she was going to let Joras spend all night trying to negotiate poetically. “I see, a fight for pride, is a waste. A waste for me. A waste for you.”T'pek bared his fangs again. “We will fight. If I win, you will be, my tribe.” T'pek immediately waved away that idea as if it wasn’t exactly what he meant to say. “Just my tribe,” he amended, thumping his own chest.“Mate?” offered Joras. It was a Vizangian word that had made it into the Trade Tongue and was used to refer to any woman a man had sex with, be she joined by holy ritual, or just a concubine, slave, or whore.“Yes!” T'pek agreed. "Mate. You will be my mate. We will make strong children. My tribe will get more than two hunters.“A laugh escaped Tsonia’s lips. "You are too proud, T'pek. You are too proud of your fighting skill and your fucking skill. What will I get if you lose?”“I do not insult you, but you are slow and loud. You walk like blind and deaf children. You see bad signs but you still go forward. You risk weak people.” T'pek nodded towards battered, blissfully snoring Ambrose. “I offer that I will lead you and be smart for you, And I will also give you children.” He caressed his loincloth.Tsonia laughed again, a full-bellied sound of unbridled mirth. “You are smart. If you lose, you still fuck me. Is that right?”“A good hunter is strong and smart,” T'pek said with that uncanny grin.“Your tribe, Where do they take 'easy’ outsiders?” Tsonia asked. “What do they do with him?”“My tribe take your outsiders to our village. The leaders decide outsiders’ fate.” T'pek shook his head.“How many outsiders go to your leaders?” Joras interjected. “What do they say to your leaders?”“Some want to trade. Some are held to work. Some breed. Some fight.”“The unlucky ones are tossed into the swamp,” Tsonia added darkly in Thelyrian. Her brow creased in thought. “If I win, you will lead us to your village. You will teach us about your tribe and the village.”“Yes." Said T'pek."If I lose, I will be your mate, right?”An eager nod set T'pek’s mane aflutter.“Will I stay here,” Tsonia indicated their campsite with a sweep of her hand, “until I make children?”“No,” T'pek said with emphasis. “You will be my mate in the village. My people will take care of you. I will protect you and love you.”“If I lose, will they stay here?” she asked, indicating Joras and Ambrose.“I will take them to the village,”“For our fate to be decided by some chieftain or shaman or council we have no knowledge of?” Joras interrupted in Thelyrian. He sought Tsonia’s gaze. A flicker of dread was clearly visible. “I have a bad feeling about this.”The fire-haired warrior rose to her feet and planted her sword into the ground. “We have a deal, T'pek. How will we settle our fight? I will not be your mate if I am dead. You will not lead us if you are dead.”“No,” T'pek agreed, undoing his cord and placing the dagger, sling and pouches atop his pack. “We will stop when one of us is not proud and says 'stop’. Your people will know the agreement.”“'Yield’ is the word you want,” Tsonia said, watching the beastman strip away his kit. “We will stop when you yield or I yield.”“Yield." T'pek nodded his agreement and unknotted his loincloth, letting his manhood hang free."I believe he means to distract me by waving his lance in my face,” Tsonia joked to Joras in Thelyrian.“Yes, well, it’s distracting me quite nicely,” he agreed.“You show weakness there,” Tsonia pointed to T'pek’s naked crotch. His face scrunched into a look that Tsonia interpreted as indignation and realized he had taken her warning as an insult to his masculinity. “No, no, no,” she waved in correction and sought a better word. “Soft? Um, bad fight place?”Comprehension dawned on T'pek’s face and he snorted. “I will have no burden. Nothing to grab. Children of my tribe learn to fight with nothing.” His grappling gesture put Tsonia in mind of the formalized wrestling that was taught in the Green Cities. "Only fur. Belts hold tools. Packs hold food and water. They are bad for fighting.“So these people fought their duels of honor naked. It wasn’t a totally foreign concept. There were stories of great heroes from ages past who also dueled in the nude. It certainly ensured that neither party carried any hidden weapons.Tsonia pulled off her tattered chain hauberk with a resigned sigh. "Why have clothes at all then?” she asked, gesturing to the discarded loincloth lying on the ground in the firelight.T'pek’s gaze roamed over her rosy skin like a lover’s caress. He barked with mirth. “Soft,” he said, gesturing to his groin. “Weak. Sharp plants and rocks and bugs are bad. But Red Tsonia is good. It is strong for Red Tsonia.”“You are too proud, T'pek,” she smirked.Tsonia’s chain skirt hit the ground with the soft rattling of metal on packed earth. She tossed her armor at Joras’ feet and began to circle the camp site, taking the muscular native’s measure as he fell into step opposite her. He was taller than her, with wider shoulders and longer arms. Some earlier fight had left his chest and shoulder marked with ghastly scars, the otherwise lustrous fur refused to fully grow back there. Her lips curled into a playful grin as her gaze wandered lower, over his fur-covered abdomen and towards his groin. The fur was almost black there, long and shaggy and nowhere enough to cover a prodigious member which proudly curved towards his navel. His oddly bent legs didn’t seem to hinder his movement one bit and his sinuously weaving tail allowed him to easily keep balance.“If you want the death price for your tribe, you will fight me,” Tsonia remarked. “If you just look at me and I just look at you, we will not fight all night.” A smile flickered across her lips. “Or would you like to just look at me?” She caressed one of her breasts.The next moment, T'pek was on her, effortlessly closing the distance in one ferocious leap. His bulk tore Tsonia off her feet and together they crashed to the ground. Strong hands closed around her arm, one above and below the elbow each and when the world stopped spinning, Tsonia was face down in the dirt, with T'pek’s clawed foot between her shoulder blades and her arm bent at a very uncomfortable angle.She had clearly underestimated her opponent’s speed and reach, but he didn’t know any of her true strength either. Tsonia bucked, hard, unbalancing T'pek. For a heartbeat, his grip on her arm waned and she rolled, tearing her arm free, not caring if his claws tore open her back or the arm creaked in its socket. The sharp jabs of pain, if anything, only fuelled her battle-lust.In the time it took T'pek to regain his balance, Tsonia came to her feet. She was upon him, a blur of fists and kicks as she employed every trick she had gleaned from the fist-fighters in the Xhastrian coliseums. T'pek blocked some of her blows, took others with merely a grunt of annoyance and countered others. If he pulled any punches, Tsonia didn’t notice.One blow hit her clavicle, cracking it with the sickening sound of bone on bone. T'pek grunted, shaking out his rattled fist. Tsonia dove in, landing a solid hit to his gut which sent T'pek stumbling backwards.“Lift me up higher,” she heard Shala jeer. “I can’t see a damn thing!”“Shush you,” Joras muttered. “Don’t make this any more awkward.”Shala’s gleeful cackling gave T'pek pause. His eyes widened in horror as he beheld the disembodied head, held aloft by a disgusted Joras. Tsonia pressed her advantage, following up her attack with a furious shoulder charge.T'pek’s tail slapped across her breasts, leaving a stinging line of fire across them. Tsonia, not even fazed by the attack, barreled into him with enough force to spill both of them to the ground again. She pinned T'pek’s arms to the ground with her knees, her forearm firmly lodged under his maw, pressing hard against his throat.“Yield,” Tsonia hissed, putting her weight onto her arm. T'pek’s maw hung open, his tongue lolling to one side, his eyes rolling madly in their sockets. Suddenly, there was a soft sensation writhing between her thighs, tickling her sex. Tsonia’s hand flashed downwards, closing around T'pek’s nimble tail. Her tight grip elicited a hoarse yelp from the prone beastkin. Too late she realized how much of an advantage she had squandered. T'pek growled, fighting against her weight into a sitting position. Tsonia evaded a vicious head-butt by rolling backwards.Gasping, she came to her feet. T'pek followed suit, albeit a bit slower.“You, are strong,” he gasped. “You are tired, from two yesterdays, but you are strong. How?”“It will take more than a primeval forest and some rotting dead to wear me down,” Tsonia snarled in Thelyrian, then added for T'pek “You are not weak, T'pek, but not strong like me. Do you yield?”“No,” the beastkin growled something else in his own language, shaking his head in defiance. “I will make you yield!” He raised his fists.“Many people try to make me yield,” she spat. “All have failed.”“I will be the first,” T'pek roared, pouncing again.This time, Tsonia was ready. As he came flying, jaws open, hands ready to grasp and wrestle, she intercepted him. One hand caught his wrist, just behind his splayed claw, the other dug into the thick fur by his loins. Her demonic blood roared as Tsonia redirected his momentum, sending T'pek crashing to the ground back first. Breath exploded from the stunned beastkin in a hollow bark. Tsonia didn’t wait for him to recover, instead she mounted his hips, trapping his throbbing lance between them and pinning his arms to the ground with brute strength.“Yield,” Tsonia gasped. His lance underneath her was already drenched and she had to force herself from grinding herself against its searing heat.“No,” T'pek growled, trying to raise his arms. He could have tried to uproot a tree with his gaze alone, the effect was much the same.“Yield, you oaf,” Tsonia snarled. In Thelyrian she added “I could break your bones like rotted driftwood if I so desired.”“I am proud. I will not,” T'pek gasped as Tsonia ground herself against him, a languid, lust-driven roll of her full hips.“But you are worthless to me as a cripple,” Tsonia purred, then in the simple Trade Tongue she said “If I yield and you yield, we both get what we really want.” She reached backwards, guiding his shaft. Her sex swallowed his tip eagerly. T'pek’s breath caught in his throat as she claimed the full length of his spear.Tsonia’s voracious appetite, never easy to sate, had grown tremendously during their weeks at sea without any privacy and no suitable lovers. She had pondered asking Ambrose for a rowing slave or three, but even she knew how much trouble that could cause in the volatile confines of a warship. Not even pleasuring herself was an option, not with dozens of eager men devouring her every move. Not that she minded an audience, but again, the discipline aboard and the hope of finding and apprehending Kelgore had been more important than her own pleasure. Now, with T'pek writhing under her, she could finally indulge! She pushed herself away from him, only to reclaim his monstrous pole in a slow, breath-stealing descent.T'pek’s growl was the only warning she got. Too late Tsonia realized that she had relinquished her death grip on his wrists, to play with her tits and finger her clit as she rode his massive shaft.“No!” the beastman snarled. His claws slid under her ass and he pushed her away.“No?” Tsonia gasped, coming to her knees.“My tribe do not fuck this way,” T'pek growled, towering over her, his glistening shaft pointing at her.Tsonia glared at him. “What-?” she began, but T'pek was on her again, forcing her onto hands and knees. Before Tsonia could even protest his rough handling, his teeth clamped onto her shoulder, his clawed hands carved furrows into her hips as he roughly adjusted her position.Tsonia relaxed, anticipating what would happen next. T'pek did not disappoint. His bulbous tip forced her rosy curtains apart and in one fell swoop, he buried his sword to the hilt in her, his hot breath and spittle pouring down her shoulder. Tsonia wailed as he pounded into her, but it was no cry of pain, the demonic cock of Q'alan had more than seasoned her nethers. If anything, T'pek’s proud lance was a potent reminder of what she had been missing ever since the God-King had tasked her with finding and killing Kelgore.“Yes,” Tsonia growled, pushing back her hips on his next thrust. T'pek grunted with the effort of keeping her pinned beneath him, his spear slashing deep into her hungry tunnel. His claws found her breast, roughly kneading her supple flesh. Another wail tore from her lips, once more she pushed back against him. Blissful release tore through her already and every thrust only heightened her delirious ecstasy.“More!” Tsonia howled, answering each of T'pek’s thrusts with a roll of her hips. His furry sack slapped against her with blistering abandon each time he bottomed out. Hot blood trickled down her shoulder, his teeth sunk deep into her flesh.Tsonia tossed back her head, jubilating at the pain, the pleasure tearing through her body. T'pek’s tail slapped her ass, the squirming appendage caressing the valley between her cheeks like a second phallus. His paw mauled her breasts, but she only spurred him on with wordless moans and grunts. Another climax tore through her.Tsonia reared up, heedless of T'pek’s considerable bulk, heedless of his teeth sunk into her shoulder. She needed all of his delicious cock, buried deep within her hungry cunt!T'pek suddenly opened his jaws, his shockingly large tongue lapping at the bloody gashes his teeth had dug. He whined in surprise as the black blood oozing from the wounds seared his tongue.Tsonia rode him like a woman possessed, driving herself onto his shaft for all she was worth. Their bodies made lewd, slapping and squishing sounds as they collided.Suddenly, T'pek slammed his hands upon her hips and pinned her in place, his breath coming in unnaturally quick gasps. And then he erupted, spewing burst after burst of hot, sticky seed into Tsonia, filling her up to bursting and then more, leaking from their union in thick rivulets, dripping down into the ravaged earth.For a moment, there was nothing but the sounds of rasping breath and the occasional drip of thick liquid spattering on the ground.Then Shala raised her voice. “I hope you had your fun, whore. Can we go find my son now?”Ambrose groaned as the light of the relentless morning sun attacked his eyes. He sat up and blinked, trying to dislodge the grit caking his eyelids. The drums, although not entirely gone, had at least quieted down and were more akin to the volcano’s distant rumblings than the oppressive, maddening drone which had almost broken him. Joras slept behind him, the artist’s arm a soothing weight on his waist. Ambrose pushed some of Joras’ locks from his angelic face and breathed a kiss of thanks onto his prickly cheek.“Good morning.” The voice was Shala’s, a mirthless, venomous rasp. Her head rested on a tree stump nearby. “Please don’t start another round of fornication. I was forced to behold entirely too much of it last night.” She made a disgusted sound. “Just look at them. Animals, truly." Her tongue came out, a shriveled lump of flesh, and pointed to the side.Ambrose gently moved Joras’ arm and gazed in the indicated direction. On the other side of the stump, curled into a tangle of limbs, were Tsonia and a monstrous being, naked both and obviously spent. The newcomer had a bestial snout resting on her shoulder, a powerful paw cupped her ample breast. Tsonia had a satisfied grin on her features and the stranger’s cock wedged between her ass cheeks."Can you believe it? They had me keep watch the entire time.” Shala gnashed her teeth. “Twice I had to endure their vulgar rutting. After that, hours of boredom. If I had my hands back I would throttle that whore!”The stranger raised his head, alert eyes meeting Ambrose’s. “Explain why the head talks,” he growled. “And why you keep such a thing.” He looked down to Tsonia’s shoulder. Faint bite marks marred her otherwise fair skin. “She tastes like poison and death,” the stranger said, his fur bristling. “Why?”“I have questions of my own,” Ambrose said, his hand inching towards his cane. He doubted he would be a match for the stranger’s prowess, but he felt better with a weapon at the ready. “Who are you? What do you want from us?”“I am T'pek, the hunter,” the stranger said. “I came to challenge fire-hair. Tsonia.”“And then the whore allowed the beast to breed her. Twice at least,” Shala added.“How did I miss that?” Ambrose asked.Stories about Tsonia’s amorous exploits were as numerous and outlandish as those of her prowess on the field of battle. He chuckled softly, knowing at least one of them to be true. It involved him, Tsonia and Joras after all.That particular tale ended with the fire-haired vixen spurned and furious after she caught Ambrose and Joras, naked, sweaty and curled around each other after an afternoon of lovemaking in a nameless pirate inn. She had been so obsessed with sating her own desires, so fixated on bedding Ambrose that she did not, for one moment, consider that Joras’ classical beauty and his youthful body were much more to his liking than Tsonia’s carelessly presented curves.T'pek rose, his muscular frame easily towering above sitting Ambrose. With enviable grace, the beastkin crossed the small clearing they had chosen as their camp site and dug into a pile of gear. Carrying a small bundle in his paw, he returned to the stump and knelt down next to Ambrose.The captain forced himself to look anywhere but the stranger’s groin. He had to admit, T'pek’s form, though alien to his sensibilities, exuded power and virility he would find utterly irresistible under other circumstances. After all, curiosity was a prized trait in any explorer.T'pek offered the bundle. It was wound in thick, crimson leaves, with pale yellow and white ribs. The smell emanating from it was at the same time mouth-watering and stomach-churning.“Do I want to eat that?” Ambrose asked, a tad suspiciously.“Yes. Eat. You are hurt. It will help.” T'pek nudged the bundle into his hand.“He might be lying,” Shala spat in Xhastrian. “You and Joras are of no concern to him. All he cares for is-”The hunter turned on his heels, claws out. A dangerous, low growl escaped T'pek’s throat. The undead witch closed her mouth, spearing the beastkin with baleful glares instead.“What does it say?” asked T'pek, circling Shala’s perch as if looking for just the right angle to punt her into the treetops.“Treachery and insults that will get her smashed with a rock and then burned to ash if she isn’t careful,” Ambrose chastised Shala. To T'pek he said “She says bad words about you. Bad words about Tsonia.”“The bad words it says have no use. Why keep it?” T'pek asked again.“Uh, magic. Strong magic,” Ambrose said. He was well acquainted with the words of trade on his tongue, but they were usually spoken across a table over tankards of wine, or between two ships lashed together in the open sea, or between merchant caravans meeting at a crossroads. Hearing the words, simple and ineloquent as they were, spoken by the beastial newcomer gave him a disquieting sensation along the length of his spine. “She promised to bring us home with magic. If we find the man she wants,” he continued, fighting to keep a straight face. The bundle’s scent was becoming utterly vile the longer he held it.“Do you trust it?”Ambrose sighed. “We have no ship. We cannot build one. We can wait many many tomorrows and moons for a ship to come. Or we can gamble.” He wasn’t certain how to express the concept of 'Hope’ in the simple Trade Tongue so in his own words, to settle his own mind, he added. “I’ll take a little hope over no hope at all.”“We gamble,” he concluded to T'pek.Gathering all his courage, he bit into the bundle. Rancid juices poured into his mouth. Strange clumps of an alien texture were borne on that vile torrent, their taste unfathomable. Coughing, he dropped the morsel, trying to wipe sticky remains from his lips. They burned as if touched by Thelyrian devil’s peppers.“Are you trying to kill me?” he snarled, raising his cane. T'pek shook his head and left him, sputtering and close to retching.Joras stirred next to him, no doubt roused by his violent hacking. Tsonia woke up too, disheveled but alert. Her gaze swept the campsite. When she spotted no immediate danger, she fussed about the stains and dirt caking her naked skin. Eventually, she sighed and stood.“I will bring water,” she said, grabbing the water skins. “Good water is not far.”“I will lead you,” T'pek offered. “The jungle is hungry in the morning.”“Not as hungry as his appetite for her cunt,” Shala muttered to their backs, already halfway across the clearing. Aloud she said: “If you wanted succor for your injuries, sailor, you had but to ask. I can easily restore your lost vigor.”“The price will be higher than you’d wish to pay, Ambrose,” Joras warned, then turned to the witch’s severed head. “Besides, don’t you need hands to work your magic?”“Small minds ask stupid questions,” Shala sighed dramatically. “Not every spell requires elaborate gesticulation. Sometimes a sip of blood and a few well-chosen words are all that is needed to weave the powers of the ether into a useful tapestry.”“Do you trust her?” Joras asked, the second time Ambrose had heard the question this morning.Ambrose gnashed his teeth. Sleeping on the forest floor had done little to dull the numerous aches he harbored. His sprained ankle was a dull throb even when sitting, but he knew it would flare into a beacon of agony after another day of walking for miles on end. Every nick and cut he had suffered stung from his own sweat, every insects’ bite itched worse than the caress of a jellyfish’s tendril.“I’m at my wit’s end, Joras!” he sobbed. “On the sea, there is a time to wait for the wind to shift and fill your sails, and there is a time to break out the oars and row. The wind is not shifting, Joras. Unless you want to drag or carry me to whatever fate awaits us, I’m going to die here in this jungle, unless I row.”He limped to the tree stump and picked up Shala’s head with both hands. Holding her up to his face, he stared into her undead eyes. “Speak, witch. What do you need me to do?”“Kiss me, oh captain of the seas,” Shala purred. “It will be over in no time.” The witch started to mutter, knotty words not meant for mortal tongues.“You have to be joking!” Joras gasped. “Put your lips to that, thing?”“Either that or dying on a nameless jungle path,” Ambrose said, gritting his teeth. He puckered his lips and pulled the witch’s head close. Shala, having finished her incantation, gazed at him with pursed lips, her wicked eyes wide with anticipation.“There’s a good boy,” the witch cooed. “Be strong. It will be over very soon.”Her clammy, withered lips touched his. Then came her tongue, probing into his mouth. He tried to clench his teeth against the intrusion, but the glutinous texture of the organ so repulsed his sensibilities that his jaw opened in revulsion instead. He very nearly dropped her then, but forced himself to endure the horror.The witch’s tongue delved impossibly deep, caressing his teeth, tracing unknown sigils on the roof of his mouth, coddling his own tongue. Ambrose had eaten raw fish tasting better than the curling flesh, but there was no escape from the loathsome kiss. He was transfixed by her undead eyes as her tongue explored his mouth, fouling it with her rotten taste.At last the organ withdrew and Ambrose began to relax- until her teeth gouged a bloody furrow into his lower lip. He dropped the head, but Shala did not fall. His lip, clamped tightly in her teeth, distended from the weight of Shala’s head hanging off of it. With pain lancing through his jaw Ambrose swatted at the witch, but every blow that landed only tore his flesh.Joars finally intervened with a cry of protest. Seizing the witch’s head, he supported its weight, alleviating the pull on Ambrose’s lip. He twisted Shala’s ear until she finally released her grip sputtering one last breathless word, her maw stained crimson with blood.Ambrose held his mouth, close to losing his stomach for the second time this cursed morning. As Joras asked after his state, Ambrose’s heartbeat throbbed through the deep gash in his lip and he itched to cave in that undead skull with his cane. A tingling, burning sensation started in his lips, then spread.“What manner of curse have you-” Ambrose spat, bloody spittle flying from his lips. But then he noticed it, the pain was receding! The mutilated lip was knitting itself closed! Like hundreds of stinging fire ants, the sensation traveled down his body, leaving nothing but the absence of pain behind. Even the ever-present throbbing in his ankle abated!“No curse.” Shala grinned up at him from Joras’ grip, her cheeks flushed with an infusion of life. “I have told you again and again, until we find my boy, I will do my best to help.”Ambrose mulled the words over in his mouth, but as a man of honor, he had no choice, even if it galled him. Taking a deep breath, he bowed.“Thank you, Shala.”The witch’s grin was loathsome. “That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”Suddenly a long, drawn wail echoed through the jungle.“That’s Tsonia!” Ambrose exclaimed, reaching for a sword. “She’s in trouble!” As if to answer him, a second wail followed.“No,” Joras sighed, setting Shala back down. “That is not the sound of Tsonia in distress I’m afraid.”“The whore is in heat, like a mongrel bitch” Shala spat dismissively.“She is having all the fun, is she?” Ambrose asked, placing an arm around Joras’ shoulders.The artist scowled. “Sometimes it is very difficult, being her chronicler.” He gently laid his head upon the taller man’s shoulder. “It may be a while before we get that water.”Ambrose chuckled. “I’d rather half a keg of Debon’s Winter Mead right about now.”He shifted his weight to embrace Joras. Had it been only a few days since they’d been swept upon these dreadful shores? Ambrose had almost forgotten how it felt to stand without favoring his bad foot.Joras looked up at him, a sly cock to his eyebrow. “Oh, you do remember our first night then?” he asked. “I thought all that mead had muddled your memory.”“I remember enough,” Ambrose affirmed, and then he kissed Joras in a way he’d not soon forget. Maybe, he thought, they’d make it out of this hellish jungle alive after all, if Tsonia’s recklessness didn’t kill them all.With Ambrose’s body mended and T'pek leading them, they traveled at a much faster clip. The soggy, swampy soil gave way to firmer ground, with the occasional rock formation jutting up between the trees. By midday, the jungle seemed much less dense and oppressive, with pools of golden sunlight cutting through wider gaps in the leafy canopy.Shortly before dusk, with thick clouds pooling overhead, they reached a wide, gaping chasm. Deep below was the glitter of a rock-strewn river, its rush and roar echoing off the sheer cliffs to either side.Ambrose peered over the edge, shuddering. “What are those dark shapes clinging to the walls?” He pointed.“Death on wings,” T'pek said. “They hunt fish below.”“I hear a 'but’ somewhere,” Joras quipped, then turned to T'pek. “How do we cross? Climb?”T'pek shoo

The red-haired bitch of vexing humiliation?A 5-part story By Blind_Justice & Loqui Sordida Ad Me. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.The quarry she had stalked for weeks over choppy seas aboard Ambrose’s crowded ship, had through uncanny skill or dumb luck once again eluded her. Even if Kelgore had been seized for food or sport by the beastly natives, Tsonia still needed proof of his death to claim the God-King’s bounty. She would be damned if she was going to be robbed of her prize.Besides, Kelgore owed her an explanation as to how she came to be kneeling before him, spattered with his essence and no recollection at all. If he still lived, she would wrest an answer from him, and woe unto him if the answer displeased her.Anger coiling in her innards like a steel-clad serpent, Tsonia dressed. She refilled the water gourd and a pair of skins her fallen foes had carried. She took their spears and a few other odds and ends that she thought might prove useful and bundled them together in one of their nets. After a moment’s hesitation, she added the witch head to the bundle she had made. Kelgore clearly ascribed it some perverse value to have carried it with him through the storm. It might prove a useful bargaining chip.With a final look around for any hidden threats, Tsonia turned her back on the spring and followed the trickling rivulet back towards the beach. Joras and Ambrose would be waiting, thirsting in misery for the water she had promised them.The sky had darkened to a velvety black. Unknown constellations sparkled amidst the remnants of stormy clouds. Ambrose found it hard to measure the flow of time. How long had it been since Tsonia left to fetch some water? One hour? Several? Maybe some days? Between ever-mounting thirst and the pain ravaging his body, staying awake proved to be difficult. The monotonous rumble of the drums didn’t help.He only realized that sleep had claimed him when the femur, the feeble weapon Tsonia had left him with, dropped from numb fingers and hit his aching foot, jolting him awake again. Groaning, Ambrose fumbled for the bone before checking the limp body of his companion. Joras had succumbed to exhaustion, slumped into a heap on the splintered bench he and Ambrose were sitting on. At least the artist’s breathing seemed even and his brow wasn’t ablaze with fever.Ambrose fought desperately to keep his eyes open, listening with focused intent for other survivors skulking among the debris. But there was nothing save for the unending rhythm of the drums. Slowly, inexorably, his head sank to his chest, the weapon drooped lower and lower and before he knew it, slumber had once again claimed him.A gentle hand on his shoulder shocked Ambrose awake. Acting on pure instinct, he raised the femur, only to be stopped by a second hand around his wrist.“Is this the way to greet me when I bring food and water?” The voice was feminine and laced with dry wit. Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the murky gloom under the broken hull and he saw Tsonia’s face, a pale mask with twinkling eyes. Ambrose heaved a great sigh of relief, his voice hoarse with thirst.Tsonia pulled something from the ground and pressed it into Ambrose’s hand. The water skin was filled to the stopper and Ambrose greedily opened it, yearning for the feel of cool moisture on his parched lips and throat.“Drink slowly,” Tsonia advised him, sliding onto the bench next to Joras. “If you’re hungry, there are some strips of dried meat in there.” She nudged a rustling something with her foot.“What took you so long?” Ambrose rasped. "Feels like you were gone forever.“ He took a long, deliberately slow swig from the waterskin and sighed as the cool water poured down his throat.Tsonia cradled Joras’s head into the crook of her elbow and carefully whetted his lips with a thin rivulet of water. Groaning, the artist came to, sipping the life-giving liquid."I found a spring and Kelgore both,” she said, setting down the water skin and helping Joras sit upright. Once she was certain he could steady himself, Tsonia handed the skin off to him and busied herself with her bundle.“My apologies to your tailor, Joras,” Tsonia quipped as she ripped strips off the bottom of his salt-stained traveling cloak and knotted them around a spar of wood. A moment later, there was the sound of flint on steel and painfully bright sparks as Tsonia fought to light a makeshift torch. With an angry hiss, the wick of tattered rags sputtered to life“Did you slay him?” Joras muttered, his voice slowly regaining strength. His gaze wandered along her toned body. “There are new wounds.”“Nothing to worry about,” Tsonia said, waving his concern away with a dismissive slash of her hand. “Before I could seize Kelgore, some natives appeared and attacked us. Either he used the commotion to abscond or the natives have snatched him.”“You’re not planning on following him, are you?” Joras asked, his tone suggesting he already knew that Tsonia was planning exactly that.“Unless we want this whole endeavor to be for naught, we will have to follow him,” Tsonia said. “I know we’re short on men and weapons, but each hour we wait allows Kelgore to slip ever further from our grasp.”“And what if we find him? How do you plan to get us back to Xhastria?” Joras asked. “Be reasonable, Tsonia. Kelgore might be gone or dead already. We should focus our efforts on finding a way home.”Ambrose bent low over Tsonia’s bundle, rooting for the food she had offered. Sharp teeth clamped around his hand, nearly taking off two of his fingers and tearing open his skin. Blood flowed freely. Cursing, he yanked his hand back, staring in horror at a grinning head amidst the gathered trappings. Sharp teeth were still snapping, framed by bloodied lips. But worst of all were the eyes, bloodshot orbs glaring straight into his soul. Ambrose recoiled and grabbed his club.“What in the Burning Hells did you bring back, Tsonia?” Ambrose snapped, raising the weapon for a devastating blow. “Is that a woman’s severed head?”“Your flame-haired whore has no understanding of the things she is meddling with,” the witch head sputtered. “She loosed the storm that I contained. She has marooned you here in this waste.”“Did you both hear that?” Tsonia asked, her gaze going from Ambrose to Joras. Ambrose nodded in uneasy confirmation. “I was drugged by a native’s dart and thought the speaking head was but a waking nightmare.”“Who is, or was, she?" Joras asked. "And why bring it here?”“I am Shala, mother to the great Kelgore! Traveler beyond the Veil! Willing consort to demons! I have received the seed and the blessing of horrors beyond your compre,”Tsonia snatched up the head and crammed a scrap of driftwood in its mouth, interrupting its blasphemous tirade. “And she calls me ‘whore’?” the flame-haired warrior growled.“I thought I killed the witch aboard Kelgore’s ship,” Tsonia explained over Shala’s muffled grunts. “When I met Kelgore at the spring, he had her head with him. It must be very important for him to protect it through the storm and whatever else he encountered along these savage shores.”“You could have warned me,” Ambrose said, cradling his mauled hand against his chest. “It nearly cost me two fingers.”“I didn’t realize it was still dangerous,” Tsonia said. “I’m sorry.”She offered Ambrose a scrap of fabric as a makeshift bandage. The captain took it and wound it around his hand, trembling with his hastened heartbeat and pumping fresh crimson into the fabric.“And what do we do now?” Joras asked, suspiciously eyeing the disassembled bundle at their feet. “I don’t fancy a trek through hostile jungles with just a few water skins and barely any food. No paper, no paints or brushes. Not that you’d let me paint you once your hair starts to fade. I suppose all of your henna is at the bottom of the ocean. Not even a simple whittling blade to carve,”“And we have no idea where Kelgore might be,” Ambrose added, interrupting Joras’s rambling.There was a ghastly sound, halfway between retching and coughing. Shala’s head had managed to work the gag from its mouth. Her hoarse, cajoling voice offered: “I know where Kelgore is. He is as much a part of me as eyes or tongue. My spawn lives yet, and so long as he draws breath, I shall sense his presence.”“Why should we trust the word of a dead demon-kisser?" Ambrose asked, voice filled with malice. "We should roast you over a fire and send you to whatever hell will have you.”“Because that buxom barbarian brute of yours won’t let you leave this island until you find Kelgore,” Shala gloated. “I wish to be reunited with my son. We share a common goal, For now.”“It galls me that she has a point,” Ambrose confessed.“It’s just bargaining for its life. There is no truth to its words,” Tsonia spat.“Can you get them home, whore?” Shala challenged. “Do you have any notion in which direction Xhastria even lies?”Even Ambrose, with years of experience at navigation, had been flummoxed by the storm. They had been chasing Kelgore westward when last he had his bearings, so Xhastria probably lay somewhere to the east. It would be a toss of the dice to venture out on the open sea with so little certainty though.“No?” the witch continued. “Help me restore my body and with a simple spell I can conjure you home. To your very doorstep if you wish.” A peal of mad laughter burst from her bloodstained lips as the torch light danced across her twisted visage. “You don’t want to perish here on this pox-ridden island, now do you? Neither do I!”“We can restore your body?” Ambrose asked, his brow furrowing at the capacity of magic.“Yes! And it’s easier than you,” Shala’s strained voice was choked off again as Tsonia wedged the driftwood gag back in her disembodied jaw and then bound it there with a length of leather strap.“Don’t encourage its mad blathering,” she scolded. “First we find Kelgore, then we will find a way off this island, If it even is an island. If we must bargain with a demon-kisser, we do so as a last resort when all other options are exhausted. Agreed?”“Yes, of course,” Joras acceded. “We should just bury the horrible thing. We can come dig it up if we need it.”“No, better to keep her close,” Ambrose countered. “If we do need help, we may need it very quickly.” Despite his misgivings, Ambrose was keenly aware that the odds were against them and their options might be exhausted much sooner than anticipated.The gall of the red-haired bitch was a vexing humiliation, but one that Shala was prepared to suffer. Once she was reunited with Kelgore, her son would show Red Tsonia the true meaning of humiliation. Shala was patient. She could wait. And in the meantime she would watch and plot.She had spent the night with the taste of salt-wood on her tongue watching the fop in the orange cloak splint the ankle of the buffoon and then fashion him a crude crutch while the bitch stood watch. The fop was too much in thrall to the bitch to be of any use. The buffoon, however, had potential. Shala could see in him a resistance to the bitch’s authority and a desire for control. It was only his injured leg that kept him subservient to her.The buffoon could be useful.When the sun rose, her captors ate the scant food taken from the beast skin, and emptied their water skins. The bitch removed Shala’s gag, carefully avoiding her teeth. She needn’t have bothered though. While Shala did need blood to reform her body, it had to be pure blood, not the corrupted filth coursing through Red Tsonia’s veins. If she could taste pure blood for seven days in a row, well then things would be different.The bitch hoisted Shala by the hair and held her up to gaze at the jungle that grew up and away from the beach.“You say you can sense your whelp,” she said plainly. “So tell me, should we head towards the volcano or towards the flatlands?”“Oh now you want my mad blathering?” Shala scowled. “I thought I was not to be trusted.”“Consider this a test of your good will,” the bitch dared to challenge her. “If you don’t want to help us find Kelgore, I’ll just gag you again and,”“Towards the volcano,” Shala interjected. She was kept alive by the grace of her demonic masters and didn’t suffer from many ailments of the flesh, but the driftwood was still uncomfortable between her teeth.“You don’t actually trust her, do you?” asked the fop.“It doesn’t matter,” the bitch replied. “We were going that way regardless. The spring lies towards the volcano. We can refill our water and pick up Kelgore’s trail there.” With that, the wooden bit was roughly crammed in her mouth once more and secured there.Tsonia was clearly cunning, but ultimately the bitch would be no match for Shala’s guile. Shala was patient. She could wait.When the first rays of the rising sun turned the ocean into molten gold, Tsonia, Ambrose and Joras emerged from their flimsy shelter. The incessant drumming had gone all night making it difficult to snatch a few hours of fitful sleep. The drumming continued unabated as they ate a paltry breakfast, the remaining scraps from the captured rations had them feeling better equipped for the task at hand.The pain of Ambrose’s wounds ameliorated somewhat with rest and with the help of Joras’s crude cane, he managed to keep pace with the others along the stony swath between the tree line and the surf. At a thin brook that cut a narrow path to the sea, the flame-haired warrior turned, eagerly heading into the jungle which awakened to riotous life around them.Birds and monkeys screeched in the branches overhead and larger bodies rustled in the shoulder-high underbrush. Occasionally, there was a low growl close by which put Ambrose’s hairs on end but Tsonia didn’t seem perturbed by the ominous sounds around them. And of course there were the drums, still rumbling sonorous, foreboding, in the distance. He was certain their cadence had changed.Tsonia's palm against his chest stopped his musing and stride both.“What is it?” Ambrose whispered. Tsonia tapped her nose and took a deep breath.Ambrose sniffed. It took him a few tries, but then he noticed the tell-tale aroma of roasted meat.“Someone ahead?” he hissed.Tsonia nodded, dropping into a crouch. She readied one of her scavenged spears.“Maybe survivors,” Ambrose offered. “We should greet them accordingly.”“You do that,” Tsonia said. “I’ll make sure we don’t stumble into an ambush. The natives carried flint and steel.” She unslung the crude pack from her shoulder and, quiet like a shadow, she slithered into the foliage. Ambrose tossed the pack over his shoulder. The head within grunted in annoyance. Grasping his driftwood cane with his free hand and, with Joras just behind, he pushed forward.He entered a large glade shadowed by overhanging branches. The early morning light glinted off the surface of a serene pool. A crude campfire had been erected next to a sturdy sea chest, the jungle wood causing more smoke than actual fire. Nevertheless, some skewers had been prepared, chunks of meat roasting over the flames. Two figures scrambled to their feet as Ambrose and Joras broke their cover. Long, curved blades glinted in the sunlight. One of the men, long-haired and sporting a thick, pointy beard, suddenly cried out in joy.“Captain!”Ambrose recognized the caller as Montu, one of his veterans. The other, a long-limbed, bald Xhastrian with ritualistic scars running down his arms, shot his companion a worried look and fell into a combat stance, his blade ready to strike.A shadow emerged behind the Xhastrian. Sunlight broke on flaming hair as Tsonia snaked an arm around his neck, a muscular leg slid between his and with an almost playful tug, the fierce warrior plucked the gleaming sword from his grasp, gently dragging the unbalanced man to the grassy ground. He was too surprised to offer much of a struggle, especially when Tsonia caressed his naked chest with the blade she had just wrested from his fingers.“Who’s your friend, Montu?” Ambrose asked.“Captain, that’s Sethos,” Montu said, sword down and hand open in a placating gesture. “Please, don’t hurt him. He was one of Kelgore’s, but without him, the bottomless sea would have claimed me twice over.”“Why didn’t we see you before?” Joras asked suspiciously over the din of the distant drums. The artist walked around the campfire, stopping at the large trunk. He raised the lid and peered inside. Within he saw weapons, tools, ropes, nails and other useful things. “That’s a Quartermaster’s Chest, isn’t it?”“That chest carried us both through the storm and then nearly broke our bones when we got tossed onto the shore a ways over there,” Montu gestured towards the distant beach, then grimaced, massaging his ribs. “We cracked it open to see if there was anything edible inside. When we heard the drums, we thought we might be able to trade with the natives, so we dragged it with us along the beach looking for water and found this spring. Someone had already been here though, killing two…” His gaze darted towards the edge of the glade. Something, hidden by the thick undergrowth, chewed on bones.“Two what?" Joras asked."Two green-furred, creatures,” Sethos added. “Heads like beasts, claws like daggers, long tails. Someone stabbed them good.” He offered a grim smile. "Your handiwork, eh?“ His eyes sought Tsonia."They left me no choice,” Tsonia grumbled. “I suspect they are the natives whose drum we hear. They wore crude clothing and carried tools so they have some savage culture.”“They seem quite proud of their music, at least,” Joras mused, casting an annoyed look towards the unceasing drum beat. Ambrose frowned at the quip. The drums were becoming tiresome, and he wouldn’t mind a chance to stab the drummers himself.“Sethos and I were just discussing what to do next, Captain,” Montu said, breaking Ambrose’s reverie. “We have water, game, some tools and plenty of wood. We could start building a ship to get home. But maybe we should look for other survivors first.”“I’ve seen no signs of other survivors on the beach,” Ambrose said. “I doubt there are many of us or Kelgore’s men left.” He gazed at the towering trees surrounding the glade. “With only the five of us and the tools in the chest, building anything seaworthy would take months. And I’m not much of a shipwright.”“But what other choice do we have?” Sethos asked. “Who knows if other ships even pass by this forlorn shore?”“Kelgore survived,” Tsonia snarled, fingertips touching her own cheek and lips as if she was wiping away some horrid stain. “I saw him myself here at this spring last night. I’m here to pick up his trail and I won’t return to Xhastria without his head as a prize. If the natives have taken him, we’ll need to deal with them as well.”There was a muffled chuckling only Ambrose heard. He jostled the pack to shut up the insolent head of the undying witch. Shala seemed to disagree with Tsonia’s assessment and uttered another guttural noise.“Provided they are willing to listen. Or hand over Kelgore,” Ambrose said. “Don’t forget, they tried to kill you.”“I’m not forcing anyone to come along,” Tsonia said, not unkindly. “But there is safety in numbers. Your chance of survival would be better by my side.”Ambrose had seen Tsonia fight, both during the recent boarding action gone awry and when they first met all these years ago in a nameless pirate haven tucked away on a rocky island off the Xhastrian coast.He had been there on business, selling overpriced food and diluted beer to the locals and taking on new crew. She had strode into the dockside tavern, wearing only her tattered chain mail and a devilish grin drawing the eye of every man. What caught Ambrose’s eye though was the rakish young man in her wake, frantically scribbling on a pad propped on his forearm, trying to capture her stride, her pose and probably her curvy backside.When stools went flying and heads started rolling, Ambrose met Joras under a table, unwilling to waste his drink in the maelstrom of bodies. The seed for a long-lasting friendship, and so much more!, was planted as they both watched Tsonia fell men by the dozen in pursuit of one crooked merchant who owed her money.Ambrose’s gaze sought Joras’s. If the artist stayed, they would be on even terms with the sailors and the chance of betrayal would be much lower. Maybe they could even rekindle some of the magic they had shared after Tsonia had bought rounds for the bar and left them to their own devices for a night. But Joras once again had eyes only for his muse. Ambrose sighed.Joras was too fixated on capturing every move Tsonia made. He would follow her blindly into the blackest pits of Hell. Someone had to make sure he wouldn’t find a miserable end in her company. And if she was willing to blindly dive into the jungle, brave a tribe of murderous savages all in the name of claiming a bounty on a demon-kisser, she would need all the help she could get.“Is this true, Captain?" Asked Montu tossing a glance at Sethos. "Are we still hunting Kelgore?”“Tyrant’s Blade is but a shattered wreck on the beach,” Ambrose replied. “I am your captain no more. You are free to do as you wish, but I invite you to accompany us as a fellow brother of the sea. Together, we can brave whatever this unknown land may throw at us.”Montu offered a wide grin. “Then you’ll be happy to know that Sethos and I have become brothers as well.” He raised his hand, showing a fresh cut in his palm. “I trust Sethos with my life, cap-, Ambrose.”The Xhastrian did the same. “No man or beast can tear us apart now,” Sethos said. “Where my brother Montu goes, I go.”“Even if it puts you at odds with your former master, Kelgore?" Joras asked.Sethos spat on the ground and turned, showing ghastly burn marks on his back. "This is how he treats his soldiers when in a foul mood,” the sailor growled. “I served him loyally from the beginning, but when his eye fell on a whore I was with, this is what I got for not wanting to share. He tore a poker from a fireplace and used it on my back. Kelgore can rot in the Pits for all I care!”“Why did you sail with him, even after what he did?” Joras asked, pity and dread in equal measure in his voice.“The only other choice was to be left behind in the fishing village we’d just despoiled,” Sethos answered with neither pride nor contrition in his voice.“Kelgore will answer for his crimes,” Tsonia vowed, rifling through the chest and picking up an axe. Grim determination flared in her steely gaze. “Let us take only as many weapons and gear as we can easily carry and be off. The sooner we find him, the sooner justice can be done!”The prints of Kelgore’s sturdy boots had vanished at the spring, replaced by signs of dragging, and the clawed footprints of the natives. Tsonia concluded that Kelgore had been drugged and carried off. Sethos wasn’t much of a woodsman but he recognized the broken leaves and the scuffed earth when the signs were pointed out to him.The small group, now armed with swords, daggers, axes and a spade, left the glade behind, following what appeared to be a hunting trail. Branches had been carved away, foliage had been cleared and the occasional snare had been set.“How kind of the natives to provide for us,” the red-haired woman called Tsonia chuckled, pulling a small, furry carcass from one such snare. “We won’t go hungry tonight.” She tucked the carcass into her makeshift pack and tightened the vines holding their meager possessions together.Tsonia led the party in single file, followed by the well-dressed northerner and the injured Ambrose in the middle. Sethos, bringing up the rear behind Montu, wasn’t quite sure what to make of his new companions. Montu’s former captain was preoccupied by something, probably his injury. The northerner called Joras seemed too milky to be a mercenary, and yet Montu and Ambrose both seemed to defer to him.They followed a meandering trail through the claustrophobic jungle. The dense foliage pressed in on them from all sides, and seemed to swallow their words. It was hard to hear Montu even just in front of him, let alone any of the others further up the line. Despite the hum of insects, the caterwauling cries of birds and monkeys, and the ceaseless drumming that seemed to surround them, Sethos found the jungle eerily quiet and still. He was a sailor, and used to the open expanse of the sea and the chatter of other sailors.“So that’s the infamous 'Red Tsonia’, is it?” Sethos asked, just to hear something other than the drums. “I heard she stalked the Beast of Bral for three months across the Wastes of Cairn and carried its hide back to Baron Septimus as a wedding dowry, then refused to marry him.”Montu laughed. “We played that game the first two days she was aboard. Someone would repeat some outlandish tale they’d heard of Tsonia’s exploits, she’d claim it was all true, and then her man Joras would set the record straight.”There was no response from further up the line so Sethos let the conversation end there. The confined bowels of the jungle unnerved him. He was certain Montu and Ambrose had to feel the same.Ahead, Tsonia called a stop. The trail they had followed intersected another and they could find no track or sign that made for an obvious choice.“Do we ask Shala?” Ambrose suggested, and Sethos’s ears perked up“What do you know of Shala?” he asked. “Does she still live, as well as Kelgore?”“Live’ is perhaps too generous a term,” Joras answered. “But by some sorcery, she’s not exactly dead yet, either.”Tsonia rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she sighed. “I suppose the old witch’s opinion is marginally better than a coin toss.” She set the pack on the ground and to Sethos’s horror, pulled out a severed head by its hair. He recognized her visage immediately as her malevolent gaze fell on each member of the party. Shala growled, her anger obvious despite the piece of driftwood between her teeth.“You have something useful to say, perhaps?” Tsonia removed the wood.“Insolent whore!" Shala spat. "How dare you cram-”Snarling, Tsonia rammed the wood back between the head’s teeth. “Oh, not enjoying the company?” she snapped. "Too bad. We only have this one pack and you’re sharing with our dinner.“ Shala replied with another growl and a hate-filled glare before Tsonia tied the vines again and tossed the pack over her shoulder."It’s dangerous to keep that thing,” Sethos warned. “If you can’t burn it to ash, you should smash it to a pulp.”“It may yet prove useful,” argued Ambrose. “We may need her magic to get home.”“They hurt you, didn’t they?” Joras asked softly. “Kelgore and his witch, I mean.”Sethos stood silent for a moment. The men who sailed the sea had a code, and he was loath to speak ill of any man he’d sailed with. And sailing with Kelgore had been hugely profitable for a time. But he had seen things that haunted him. Things he hoped no man would ever see again. Sethos glanced at Montu. His blood brother nodded.“Kelgore can seize the minds of others,” Sethos murmured at last. “It’s those black eyes of his. When you look into those eyes, he steals your will and your memories both. He turns you to his cause whether you wish to do his bidding or not. I have seen Kelgore compel strong men to slice the throats of their own children, or to throw themselves into the sea and just let themselves drown rather than try to swim.”“And after, you have no memory of what you have done,” Tsonia added quietly.“Yes!” agreed Sethos, looking up with a start. “You’ve seen it! You’ve seen this power he wields.”“I’ve seen it,” she agreed, wiping her hand across her mouth. “Which is why he must die, But first we must find him. Very well, if we can see no reason to choose one path over another, then I suggest,”Sethos couldn’t say where the violent eruption of fur and foliage came from. Before he was even aware of it, the whole party was knocked asunder in a chaotic frenzy of violence. As a massive beast tore through their midst, he saw flashes of teeth as long as his cutlass, claws like knives, fur striped brown and white like the sun-dappled jungle floor. And then just as quickly it was gone.“Ambrose! It got Ambrose!” Montu shouted as he clambered to his feet. In a flash of fiery hair, Tsonia was already plunging headlong into the thicket.Sethos sprang up, drew his sword, and followed his blood brother in pursuit with the man Joras close behind carrying the pack. If Sethos had found the winding trail claustrophobic, this wild boscage was worse. Leaves and branches assailed him as he tore heedlessly through the dense undergrowth. Somewhere ahead, Ambrose screamed for help.Montu hacked away a branch and Sethos did likewise, just in time to see the mail-clad mercenary let fly her axe on the run. The spinning blade vanished into the brush, but a monstrous squeal of pain told them it had found its mark.“It bleeds now!” Tsonia called, without breaking her stride, and only a few yards later, Sethos saw the splatter of crimson against the leaves and the crooked path it wove through the jungle.The beast fled like a coursed hare, skirting this way and that, but Tsonia doggedly held its trail and the three men followed in her verdant wake. Suddenly the ground dropped away and Sethos found himself skidding and sliding down the embankment of a deep ravine in a cloud of dry forest litter. As he scrambled to arrest his perilous descent, he finally caught sight of their quarry ahead.Its long, sinuous body was like that of a great weasel or otter, but the fangs that grew from its jaw reminded Sethos more of the great bloated tusk-seals he had seen in the frozen north. It held Ambrose in its maw, secure behind those fearsome teeth. The man struggled still, but before Sethos could guess at Ambrose’s fate, the beast had scrambled away around a bend in the ravine.“It’s trapped itself!” shouted Tsonia. "Hurry! Before it finds purchase to climb out again!“Sethos found it easier to follow the rocky gorge at speed. In the dim depths, the brush was not so dense, and he frequently spotted their prey trying in vain to escape back to the jungle coverage above. But the chasm narrowed. Sethos caught glimpses of Ambrose tucking himself tightly around the great saber-toothed snout to avoid being battered against the steeply sloping walls.Cornered by the contracting ravine, the great beast made one last desperate attempt to climb to its freedom, claws scrabbling against the loose dirt and mulch, Tsonia’s axe still lodged in its flank. Failing, it floundered back to the bottom and turned on its pursuers, hissing.Ambrose pounded the brute’s snout with his fists, but the creature shook him violently until Ambrose was forced to relent. He seemed to almost slump in the beast’s jaws, as if his very strength drained away."Stand your ground here and don’t let it flee,” Tsonia warned. Montu and Sethos flanked the warrior, swords at the ready, penning the great creature in. “It will have to drop Ambrose if it wants to fight.”“Here,” offered Sethos, "Take my blade.“With his blade in hand, Tsonia charged the beast, dropping low at the last moment to avoid a swipe of its giant paw. It was evident to Sethos that she sought to attack the monster’s flank and avoid any strike that might injure Ambrose, but the beast was too nimble, its long body turning and shifting and always keeping its snarling gaze on its foe.A distraction was called for."Montu, my brother, stand ready if it should flee,” Sethos instructed as he knelt down to pick up a pair of good-sized stones from those scattered at his feet. “Joras, help me draw its attention, To the left, ready?”“Yes, I see,” Joras confirmed, laying aside his pack and spade and picking up a pair of stones as well.The pair let fly with their stones, pelting the great beast’s shoulder and ample side. It turned, growling at them, and with no hesitation, Tsonia seized her opening. The curved blade drew a gash along the creature’s right side. It was no killing blow, but Tsonia clearly had a more immediate goal. As Sethos and Joras rearmed themselves, Tsonia snatched the embedded axe from the creature’s hide, ripping it out with a gout of flesh and blood.The mighty beast screamed in agony, dropping Ambrose, and wheeled on its tormentor with ivory blades. As Sethos and Joras let fly a second volley, Tsonia hacked at its tusk with the axe and drew a slash across the giant weasel’s flaring snout.The creature recoiled in pain, and decided it had had enough.Charging like a coiled spring the creature burst past Montu, who set his blade and raked the beast’s long flank as it passed. Sethos and Joras could only press themselves flat against the walls of the canyon to avoid being smashed by the careening hulk as it fled.“I am beginning to hate this place,” Ambrose quipped as Joras helped him to his feet. He was shaken, battered and scratched, but not seriously harmed. Sethos supposed the giant saber-toothed weasel had meant to carry Ambrose back to feed to its young.“The trails are far behind us now,” Tsonia observed, “and I don’t like our chances of finding our way back. I suggest that if we cannot track Kelgore, we make for high ground and get the lay of the land. Perhaps we can spot something useful.”This course of action sounded reasonable. Sethos and Montu nodded their agreement.“That sounds like quite a climb,” Joras objected. “Perhaps we should call it a day and let Ambrose rest. We only have a few hours of daylight left to find shelter.”Reluctantly their fire-haired leader agreed. “Let’s at least find a way out of this ravine then. I don’t want to get caught in a flood if there’s rain.”Ambrose had managed to spark a fire while the others scavenged in the gloaming twilight. The worst of his wounds had been swaddled in bright orange bandages torn from Joras’s cloak. The crude lean-to that Montu and Sethos had built had kept most of the brief rain off of him, but he was still damp and sweaty and miserable. His tunic dried by the fire as he fed damp punk wood into the flames.In the distance, the drums continued, and not for the first time, Ambrose wished they would stop. He considered unbinding the old witch’s head, just to have a voice to listen to other than the incessant beat of the drums. He was sure that sound would haunt his nightmares for the rest of his days.Before Ambrose’s misery could drive him to foolishness, Montu emerged, hacking through the foliage with his sword.“Well done keeping this fire alight through the rain,” Montu called. “The smell of smoke led us right back to you.”“We’ll not go hungry tonight, at least,” called Sethos from behind Montu. He held up a pair of large birds by their feet.“I’m glad you’re back before dark,” Ambrose replied without standing. “Come and dry those wet clothes by the fire. I’m worried about what rot and disease might find us without good, healthy sea air.”“The humidity is bothersome, isn’t it?” agreed Montu, removing his tunic and spreading it out to dry in the fire’s smokey heat. Sethos crawled into the lean-to in search of a knife to butcher their meat. “The drums are bothersome, too,” he added.“Did you spot a drummer, like you hoped?”“No,” Montu shook his head. “No sign of man nor beast-man. The drums fell silent as we approached. They’re watching us, I think.”“Of course they’re watching us,” Ambrose snapped. "But why? That’s the question.“"Perhaps they fear this,” Sethos said, emerging from the lean-to with the witch’s severed head in his hands.“Put that back!" Ambrose growled. Shala’s eyes locked on his and he felt for a moment as if his very soul shriveled under her gaze. He turned away. "I don’t want to look at her.”“Then we should cast it into your fire and be rid of it,” Sethos argued.“She claims her magic can bring us home,” Ambrose objected.“And you believe her?” Montu asked, snatching the grotesque thing from Sethos, holding it at eye level and staring defiantly into Shala’s scowl.“I don’t know,” Ambrose answered, his eyes fixed on the throbbing heart of the campfire. “I don’t want to, but I fear there may be no alternative, I don’t want to die here, But I’m sure there would be a terrible price for her help.”“Let’s ask her then!” Montu proposed with a laugh. “Tell us old woman, what would it cost us for your magic to take us all home?” He began to unfasten the gag that held Shala in silence.“No, stop!” Sethos objected and reached to grab the witch’s head back from his blood-brother.Ambrose flinched at the sudden flurry of recklessness. Montu, balancing the head in one hand, tried to jerk it away with a good-natured laugh. For a moment they fumbled Shala’s severed head between them, and Ambrose pushed himself back away from their roughhousing, his injured hand throbbing with the memory of his own carelessness. It looked for a moment as if Montu would yield to his wiser brother, but then Sethos suddenly yanked his hand back, leaving Montu with the prize.“Shit! The bitch bit my finger!” he cried, shaking the pain from his injured hand. “She drew blood.”“Traitor! Deserter! Mutineer!” spat Shala, as Montu dropped her to the ground to save his own hands. "Addle-brained Turncoat! Pox-ridden bastard son of a drooling whore!“Sethos found the gag and pressed the wooden bit back between her teeth."Does it ever say anything useful, or just hurl insults?” Montu asked as he helped tightened the gag back in place.Ambrose thought about it. The witch had been more forthcoming after Tsonia had first recovered her. He wondered if perhaps her mind was beginning to rot. Of course, if he’d been bound up the way she had, he wouldn’t be in a very helpful mood either. He was still considering how to answer Montu’s question when his former shipmate looked up with a start.“Hullo!” called a familiar voice from out of the brush. “Ambrose?”“It’s Tsonia and Joras,” Montu hissed. “Put it back,” he urged Sethos, forcing the gagged witch into his blood-brother’s hands “Quick! Quick, put it back!”“Here,” called Ambrose as Sethos scurried inside. "This way.“"I wish you wouldn’t make such a racket,” Ambrose heard Tsonia admonish Joras as she hacked their way into the campsite.“I’m pretty sure everyone already knows right where we are,” Joras countered, gesturing to the ever-present drumming that surrounded them day and night. “Did you have any luck?”“Two fine birds for dinner,” replied Montu, standing up and drawing the eyes of the newcomers. Ambrose recognized the ploy and scooted over to block their view of Sethos and the lean-to. "How about you?“"Not so much I’m afraid,” Joras replied. "A pair of breadfruits and an armload of dry hanging deadwood for the fire.“"That’s alright then,” said Sethos, crawling back out of the lean-to with what Ambrose considered forced nonchalance. “We’ll eat well, dry our clothes and be on our way in the morning.”The next morning, the party left their camp site, bleary-eyed, short-tempered and hardly rested. At least they had a bellyful of food, to grant them energy for another sweat-drenched hike through tangled vines under the wide-brimmed, leafy canopy.Sethos slid down a tree. “The volcano is that way,” he said, pointing. “There is no sign of a trail through all this damned tree cover.”“It was much easier walking than having to hack our way through the undergrowth,” Ambrose complained, massaging his ankle.“Can you still walk?” Montu snapped. “Or should we carry you?”“I think I have a few more miles in me,” Ambrose said, pulling himself up to his full height again. “Let us find some fresh water and a more defensible position before we settle down for the night.”“I’ve seen a clearing not far from here,” Sethos said. “With any luck we might find a spring or a stream there.”Tsonia again took the lead and they set out, soon swallowed by the deep viridian shadows of the jungle. The men were growing testy. The maddening noise of wildlife and the rolling of the natives’ drums was even beginning to wear on her nerves. The air was hot and humid, almost as tiring as the act of marching through the gloom. The stench of rotting vegetation was all-encompassing.The ground, Tsonia noticed, thus far stable enough save for hidden vines and air roots poised to trip them up, became more and more soggy. Rivulets of water glinted, highlighted by the few errant shafts of late afternoon sun which managed to pierce the emerald canopy overhead.And then the endless gloom brightened as the jungle thinned ahead of them. The clearing was nigh!Tsonia stopped abruptly, causing Joras to nearly bump into her. The artist swayed to the side, a shocked yell tearing from his lips. Ahead, wound around a thick, spiked pole, someone had left a skeleton, its skull painted a ghastly red and the arms spread along a crossbeam.“What is this?” Joras gasped.“Seems to be some kind of totem,” Ambrose guessed, mopping thick beads of sweat off his forehead. “Maybe the natives use it to mark their territory?”“I wish they’d use signposts, like civilized people,” Joras muttered. "Gave me a righteous scare.“Tsonia crouched, her blade at hand, her eyes scouring the ground sucking at her feet. "No tracks. No sign of a worn path.”“Why put up this ghastly marker then?” Joras wondered.Ambrose examined the body. “What do the natives look like?” he wondered.“Large, monstrous. Heads which look more like animals than human,” Tsonia said. “Why do you ask?”“Don’t you see? There’s nothing monstrous about the skull. They must have found a human and put him here.”Tsonia traced her fingers over the skull, noticing the cracks and pits in the bone. “That’s too old and weather-beaten to be a fresh kill.”“So we’re not the first humans to maroon on these shores,” Joras said. “Maybe there is a settlement somewhere? And ships to take us back home?” His eyes gleamed with renewed hope, echoed by Montu and Sethos. The sailors slapped their shoulders in silent jubilation.“We need directions,” Tsonia admitted. “First we learn more about the lay of the land. Then we find the natives and Kelgore.”The warrior pushed past the grisly totem, resuming their trek. She had taken only a dozen steps when a guttural noise came from the pack.“Quiet you,” Tsonia snapped. The unliving witch inside answered with another growl. Whatever she wanted was turned into gibberish by the wood secured between her teeth.“Maybe we should find out what’s irking her,” Ambrose suggested.“I’ll not suffer more of her insults,” Tsonia growled. “I’ve had more than enough of that already.” She slapped the pack. “You only speak when spoken to, you hear?”A spiteful grunt was her answer. Satisfied with it, Tsonia headed towards the vestiges of daylight breaking through the gaps between the towering trees. Ambrose and Joras were right behind her.“Ishtar’s tits,” Tsonia cursed, stopping just shy of the last trees. “That’s not the kind of water we need.”Ambrose joined her, blinking at the radiance assaulting his eyes. The clearing was vast, and covered almost entirely in swampy, brackish water. Misshapen trees grew from tiny islands like mutilated appendages of a submerged giant. Like diaphanous clouds with vile intent, large swarms of bloodthirsty insects lazily drifted over the stagnant pool, their droning buzz heralding naught but agony should they find soft, exposed flesh. The first breeze they’d felt in hours greeted them, but it carried a hellish stench, like rank, rotting eggs.“Sulphur,” Joras said, indicating the distant volcano visible above the tree line at last. “The volcano’s influence must reach all the way here.”The pack groaned. There was the hair-raising sound of teeth scoring salt-encrusted wood.Tsonia grabbed the pack and held it at eye level, her gaze lancing into one of Shala’s eyes, barely visible behind a clump of rodent fur. “I’ve had it with your noises, woman,” she hissed. “One more gasp, growl or moan and I’ll toss you into the depths of the swamp. Do you understand?”A noise, almost a word, made it past the gag. Tsonia tossed the pack over her shoulder again. “Good.”She cast a long, troubled gaze around the swamp and tried to judge the distance to the volcano’s rising foothills on the far side. The plume of smoke rising into the evening sky seemed almost sinister in the fading light of dusk.“Crossing this pit will be slow and messy. Who knows what kind of beasts are lurking under the surface.” She scowled at a swarm of insects drifting close. “And I don’t fancy being bitten by those bloodsuckers. Even if it takes us longer, we should walk along the edge.”The sun had long ago fallen below the horizon and still they trudged along the edge of the swamp, looking for a spot of dry land to set up camp. They came across another totem, this one built from human bones as well and still, their purpose eluded them. Exhausted, tired and riddled with insect bites, they struggled on.Montu cast uneasy glances to the side, noting the strange lights flickering under the surface of the swamp and the thick fog obscuring their already limited vision.He had been born and raised in the Green Cities, surrounded by endless deserts. The jungle, the swamp, all teeming with murderous life, was utterly alien to him. He didn’t know if swamps were supposed to glow like that. He glanced towards his blood brother Sethos, but the Xhastrian seemed as uneasy as he was, grasping the heft of his axe with white-knuckled intensity. The captain, no, Ambrose!, cursed and stumbled, the treacherous ground grasping his already weakened leg. Joras easily caught and steadied him.“If we don’t find a safe place soon, this swamp will be my grave,” Ambrose grumbled.A hollow groan answered him, loud enough to be heard over the ever-rumbling drums. And then another. And a third.Montu raised his sword and cast his gaze about. The sounds had come from the swamp, but try as he might, he didn’t spot anything awry.Tsonia, blade in hand, whirled on her heel. “This is not the time for idle jests!” she snapped.There was a strange, sucking noise, of something being dragged across the muddy ground. Montu caught movement at the edge of his vision. There, cast in sharp relief against the sickening glow of the swamp, he saw an arm rise and fall, hand curled into a claw. The arm ended in a body crawling along the ground. Sightless, milky eyes rolled in a devastated skull, the jaw frantically snapping.Another shape shambled close, this one’s rotted limbs swaying in an unsteady gait. And there were yet more, rising from the swamp, dozens of unliving nightmares coming to haunt the living.“Away from the water,” Tsonia ordered. "Before they cut off every escape!“"If it’s not too late already,” Sethos growled, swinging his axe. “They’re everywhere!” The heavy blade split a skull like rotted kindling. Still, a clawed hand grazed the Xhastrian’s shoulder as the body crumpled, tearing a gash into his dark skin. Montu swung his sword as well, beheading the crawler at his feet. Ambrose, Tsonia and even Joras swung sword and axe and spade, trying to stem the tide of shambling bodies slowly, inexorably encircling them.A hand closed around Montu’s ankle, sharp, filthy claws digging into his skin. He stumbled backwards, escaping the second hand slicing downwards by sheer dumb luck. The headless body at his feet still writhed, still sought to tear him apart. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Montu bent low and tore the clammy hand from his leg. Sethos’ axe came down, shattering the undead thing’s spine. At last, the body stopped moving.“Thank you, brother,” Montu said.Sethos gasped in protest. Hot blood fountained, spattering across Montu’s face and chest. Another corpse grasped Sethos from behind, claws like iron vises around the Xhastrian’s arms, teeth tearing at soft tissue. The Xhastrian moaned and staggered, trying to dislodge the monster frantically gnawing at his throat. The axe fell from his fingers.Montu used the heavy pommel of his sword, slamming it into the stinking head until the thing stopped tearing at Sethos’s neck. His blood brother was alive, just, his breath a sick, wet gurgling.“No, don’t die,” Montu whispered.Sethos raised his hand, a flick of a gesture to the rear.Before Montu could turn, a heavy weight fell on him from behind, toppling him onto the gasping Sethos. Razor-like claws tore into Montu’s back, sharp teeth sunk into his calves and shoulders. More and more bodies piled onto him, robbing him of the air to scream for help.Whimpering helplessly, his face caked in his brother’s blood, Montu died, torn asunder by the ravenous horde.T'pek shook his head. The fools had left the trails and ignored the totems. Every whelp of the tribe knew to give the red bones a wide berth. The elders had the grisly warnings placed for a reason after all. The swamp was forbidden, the final resting place of all convicted criminals, be they tribesmen or outsiders. Only, ever since they had tossed that witch into it years ago, the corpses would not stay dead. His keen eyes easily pierced the gloom and his nostrils caught the rancid stench of the swamp-borne dead as they poured from the waters.He had seen the dead walk twice, once as a dare when he still was a stupid, reckless whelp and now for a second time, while watching these curious outsiders blunder through the Hunting Grounds. While the other members of his hunting party couldn’t wait to boast of their catch in front of the females and elders, T'pek knew that patience would bring much greater gain.And unlike his younger kin, he knew a few words of the outsider tongue, gleaned from the flamboyantly clad traders who had come to the village once and never left or those lost souls that had been picked off the beach over the years.He would challenge this fire-headed female in her own tongue. She would accept, and then she would yield to him once beaten. His pack mates had been younger and quicker, but T'pek was a shrewd old hunter, invisible unless he wanted to be seen and gifted with years of experience.There was a distinct stirring from his loins. That fire-headed female was strong and fierce. Other hunters would scoff at her lack of caution the mighty jungle demanded, but T'pek had seen her grow and adapt already. Not even her lack of fur dampened his lust for her. She would give birth to powerful whelps and he would make sure she would do so often. To make his heated wish come true, T'pek needed to throw the ravenous dead off her trail first.From his perch in a holy kalupa tree, he spotted one of the thick-skinned swamp dwellers, docile plant-eaters renowned for their tender meat and fierce tempers once angered. Their fragrant blood made for good bait and he knew they would run away from any danger.T'pek pulled a sharp-edged sling stone from his pouch, a serrated, triangular flint perfect for piercing thick hide and cracking skulls. He nestled the projectile into his sling and, easily balancing on the thick branch he’d been sitting on, let fly. The jagged missile hit the swamp-dweller’s arse, carving a deep gash into its hide. Braying madly, the ponderous beast thundered forwards, blood mingling with water.T'pek bared his teeth in a feral grin. He could see the dead horde falter, the stragglers swerving to track the fresh bait. More and more stumbled back into the swamp, eager to latch on to the fresh source of blood like the wicked snapperfish infesting the White River which had torn apart his first mate.If she was as strong as he hoped, the fire-headed female would now be able to make a clean break from the dead.He settled back on his haunches and resumed his vigil. The hunt was far from over.To be continued in Part 3.By Blind_Justice & Loqui Sordida for Literotica.

What use is brute strength when the mind is under siege?A 5-part story By Blind_Justice & Loqui Sordida Ad Me. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.Preface: A grim, brutal sword-and-sandal adventure in the style of Robert E Howard, creator of characters like Conan the Barbarian, Soloman Kane, and Red Sonya (whom we pay homage to in this tale).The grim visage of a snarling war goddess carved into the prow cut a foaming trough through a particularly high wave as fifty slaves grunted with the effort of dragging their oars through the churning waters, spurred on by the pounding drum and the sting of the lash. Slicing through the choppy sea with the practiced grace of a harem dancer, the sleek bireme stalked her prey, her sail taut and a firm hand on her tiller. With the salt wind in his hair and the brine spray on his face, Ambrose smiled.Gods willing, the Tyrant’s Blade, would finally overtake Kelgore the Despoiler today, putting an end to the pirate king’s bloody rampage and filling Ambrose’s purse with coin. The dreaded pirate had pillaged his way along the Xhastrian coast, uncannily avoiding his pursuers through guile, bribery and masterful seamanship. The merchants and nobles of Xhastria called out for the God-King to put an end to Kelgore’s atrocities. Despite unleashing the considerable naval might of Xhastria upon him, Kelgore still evaded justice.And so the heavy bounty levied on Kelgore’s head was enough to pique the interest of every mercenary who could stomach a rolling deck beneath their feet.Ambrose counted himself lucky to have cut a deal and joined forces with a warrior-witch whose renown, if not already legendary, was certain to become so. He had once seen Red Tsonia’s prowess in battle for himself and it made his heart glad that she sailed under his banner, and not Kelgore’s.Tsonia, flame-haired, long-limbed and clad in a woolen cloak against the stinging wind and spray, shot him a fierce glare. “The storm draws closer, Captain,” she stated flatly. In any other, Ambrose would have expected at least a note of worry in the statement.“Aye, and Kelgore sails into its teeth!” he replied.Leaden clouds hung but a hand’s breadth above the slate-gray, foam-crested waves and the sky between was hidden behind a curtain of distant rain. Less than a scant league ahead of them the silhouette of Kelgore’s ship drew low in the water, over-burdened by its plundered cargo. A lance of lightning bisected the sky to the west but still Kelgore’s crew pulled hard for the rain shroud.“He means to lose us in the maelstrom,” Ambrose continued, barely audible over the groan of the oars, the howl of the wind and the roar of the waves around them. “But Tyrant’s Blade is lighter. Faster. We’ll be on him before he’s swallowed by the storm.”“We’ll both be in the gullet of that storm if the winds change,” Tsonia observed, bracing a hand against the rail as a heavy swell rolled the deck beneath her feet. “But I’d rather die than let the last fortnight’s hunt go to waste. Kelgore the Despoiler dies today, come hell or high water.”Ambrose, steady as always, leaned against the rudder to climb the steep swell and keep Kelgore in sight. “You might have both if that storm catches us,” he replied. Then to his crew he shouted “Make ready to cut away the sail lines! We’ll not waste time furling if the winds shift!’The bireme pitched up another undulating hillock of water, smashed across its foamy crest, and plunged down the far side towards a deep valley. For the moment, Kelgore was lost to sight in the sea’s rolling hills. Tsonia cursed and clambered snarling up the aft castle but Ambrose merely grinned. A great warrior she might be, he thought to himself, but she cannot brook losing sight of her quarry because she cannot read the ocean.Down and down the Tyrant’s Blade dived, gaining speed as the oarsmen pulled and the sail snapped. Down, until the valley floor rose to meet them, as Ambrose knew it would. The deck yawed hard and pitched up suddenly. Above him, Ambrose heard Tsonia curse again. The rising swell had caught the ship on its back and bore her aloft towards the iron clouds above.As the turbulent waves fell away on either side, a great shout went up from the crew, for dead ahead was Kelgore’s ship, her sail fallen slack, as the wind had turned."Cleave the lines!” shouted Ambrose, though he needn’t have bothered. His crew knew their jobs and let heavy axes fall across the hempen cables at the first sign that the sail might falter and drag. The heavy canvass flapped away in the headwind, an expensive sacrifice, but dreams of wealth beyond counting had made Ambrose and his crew reckless in their thirst for Kelgore’s blood.“He turns!” shouted Tsonia from the aft castle. “Kelgore means to fight!”Thunder exploded and another fork of lightning stabbed at the sea, as if to portend the inevitable battle to come. Ahead, Ambrose could see the broadside of Kelgore’s ship turning towards them, two banks of oars dragging in the water on her port side. Kelgore’s limp sail suddenly snapped taut as it caught hold of the shifted headwind.“Ramming speed!" Ambrose bellowed. The tempo of the drum quickened and the oars beat a staccato rhythm through the violent sea. Tyrant’s Blade lurched forward into the wind like a mad dog broken free of its lead."To the bow Tsonia, and ready your blade!” he shouted up to the top of the castle.She leapt down from the roof and threw off her spray-sparkled cloak. In nothing more than a cropped halter of tarnished chainmail and a kilt of the same, Tsonia sprinted towards the front of the ship. Her sandaled step held her balance on the capricious deck and she drew a wickedly curved scimitar from its scabbard as she ran, the perfect weapon to maul unprotected flesh with quick, wide slashes.From the tiller, Ambrose couldn’t help but admire Red Tsonia’s shapely figure as she stood at the head of the mercenary crew, one hand braced against the ship’s high prow, the other idly testing the weight of her sword, her crimson locks tossed behind by the shrieking gale. Once again, lightning split the sky and thunder rolled a warning omen as the ship bore heedlessly down on its prey.“There’s a sight to daunt a man’s soul,” Ambrose said to the figure in the bright tangerine cloak who emerged from the castle. “Two fell goddesses bearing down on you with murder in their eyes. By the gods man, that’s a scene you ought to paint!”“Yes,” agreed Joras, taking in the volatile chaos unfolding before him and clinging tightly to a rail. “But to capture the proper perspective, I’d need to be on Kelgore’s ship.”Even amidst the roar of the waves and the booming thunderclaps, the impact of Tyrant’s Blade against Kelgore’s galley was ear-shattering. The heavy bronze-clad ram that the war goddess figurehead sat astride pierced the side of Kelgore’s ship in a cacophony of bursting planks, splintering oars, and wailing men as wood and flesh were torn asunder.Tsonia, nimble like a prowling cougar, used the force of the impact to propel herself onto the other ship’s deck feet first, toppling a bleeding sailor feebly clutching at half an oar sticking from his gut. She hoisted his mangled body up by an arm and tossed it towards a cluster of dumbfounded pirates stumbling in from the wounded ship’s prow, creating a gap big enough to allow Ambrose’s men to follow her onto the deck.And follow her they did, using a precariously placed boarding plank, hacking and stabbing at everything their short blades and heavy bludgeons could reach.“Keep them off me while I fetch Kelgore’s head!” she bellowed over the chaos just as sheets of rain began to pour from the roiling clouds above. Another peal of thunder rolled above the din, the deck heaved erratically beneath her feet, and Tsonia charged blindly into the deluge with no doubt she would find Kelgore at the helm, wrangling the ship and his men both.Her scimitar darted this way and that, finding ample bodies to carve open. Across the perilous deck Tsonia danced through the rainfall, plucking a wickedly barbed harpoon from the feebly twitching hand of a pirate she had just eviscerated.Over the cries of the wounded and dying and the drumming of the rain she heard a gurgling moan. Through the turmoil emerged a hulking, misshapen brute bearing down on her. A head taller and twice as wide as she, the grotesque creature hefted a gargantuan mace, the head a sharp-edged lump of dark matter lined with scintillating veins of a viridian mineral. Heedless if it hit friend or foe, the giant swept the weapon across the deck, felling a handful of his allies and clearing ample space for Tsonia.The visage of the brute was truly hideous, his features half-melted and covered in purulent boils of some fell disease. One eye was of a sickly green hue, the other of a brilliant blue. Unbridled rage flared in both as he roared, spit flying from swollen lips, rivulets of rain water trickling over thickly corded muscle. The mace came up to drive Tsonia through the deck like a nail but the flame-haired warrior was faster. With the force of a ballista she hurled the harpoon, the ghastly weapon tearing through the giant’s throat in a shower of gore. Like a grisly monument, the barbed head protruded from the back of his neck. Spewing blood and madly flailing at the object jutting from his jugular, the giant went to his knees. At last, he managed to grasp the heft of the weapon and pulled, ending his own miserable existence in self-defeating agony.A hail of arrows came down around Tsonia. Some missiles hit the fallen giant's back, others vanished overboard and into the roiling sea below. Tsonia peered through the torrent at the shadows of men atop the aft castle trying to unleash another volley of feathered death her way. For all the guile their master had displayed during his cunning evasion of the God-King’s might, his minions seemed to lack the fundamentals of warfare. No sound tactician would even consider archers in weather like this, but here they were.Chuckling to herself, Tsonia dashed towards the aft castle, her bloodstained weapon and fierce gaze enough to give pause to many a defender. Those too brave or foolish to flee she cut down as she ran, her curved blade carving horrible wounds into their bodies, only protected by wet cloth and unholy sigils tattooed onto their skin by blasphemous artists.By the time the third salvo scattered onto the precariously tilted deck, she dove headlong through the sodden curtain covering the castle’s entrance tucking into a shoulder-roll to avoid any hidden ambush. The sharpened prongs of a barbed trident scored the rain-splattered planks behind her and the anticipated defender readied his weapon for another attack. Tsonia lithely came to her feet. Her opponent, a half-naked Xhastrian with oiled skin and ceremonial braids in his coal-black hair had the greater reach, but he didn’t have her strength. She flung her scimitar spinning pommel over blade, causing him to evade to the side just as she expected. Grabbing his trident behind the viciously barbed tips, Tsonia pulled, breaking his balance and forcing him to stumble forwards or lose his weapon.The Xhastrian decided not to relinquish the trident and, thinking her unarmed and less dangerous, even put his weight behind it, hoping to put her off-balance. Tsonia let him push, allowing the weapon to glance off her shoulder. Too late the Xhastrian realized what her true plan was, but by the time he tried to pry her hands off his temples, it was too late. One quick snap to the side and the man’s neck broke. Tsonia tossed his limp body aside, scowling at the gash the trident had carved into her fair skin. The wound was already closing, her black blood hardening into a protective scab. In an hour, only the ghost of a scar would tell the tale of this exchange. A day later, even that ghost would only be a memory.Reclaiming her sword, Tsonia looked around. Another curtain covered the only other exit from the castle’s main cabin. Above the patter of rain and frantic footfalls on the roof above, Tsonia heard urgent muttering from beyond the curtain, syllables of a knotty language she knew all too well.Snarling in anger, Tsonia burst into the room beyond the curtain. Runes and sigils had been smeared onto the planks and the stink of death and magic was heavy in the air. A wizened old crone, naked but for bloody symbols painted onto her saggy skin, held the bleeding corpse of a young girl in her arms. A crimson gash on the girl’s throat told Tsonia all she needed to know. The storm tossing them about was not borne of nature, but of demonic forces.“Do not trifle with me, sell-sword,” the hag wheezed, brandishing a knife made from some large predator’s tooth. “I alone hold the storm’s true fury at bay.”The weather-witch rammed the blade into the girl’s chest, drawing thick red heart-blood. Like a living entity, the trail of blood curled upwards like a charmed serpent while the crone sang, enticing unspeakable powers from beyond the veil to do her bidding. Tsonia lunged forward to interrupt the unholy spell being invoked before her, the scimitar in her hand a crimson-stained arc of steel as she aimed for the crone’s neck.The weapon tore through flesh and bone, separating the still muttering skull from the neck it had sat upon. Blood fountained and the grinning head bounced off the floor, coming to rest near the veiled exit.“Take your lies to the Pits for all I care,” she growled, just as the planks beneath her feet rocked as if struck by an angry titan and the drumming rain above her intensified.There was a horrified yell from outside, even audible over the roar of the waves and the howl of the wind piercing every tiny opening in the ship’s hull. A moment later a horrible impact ripped through the aft castle. Beams cracked and planks split as a large weight slammed into the ceiling.“What in the Burning Hells have you done?” a cultured voice demanded to know.Tsonia tore her gaze away from the torrent of water sluicing through the shattered castle and pooling around her ankles. She saw his eyes first, black like twin obsidian beads piercing her with a gaze of dark nothingness. Behind those eyes, the man who clambered through the castle wreckage was tall and handsome despite sodden, battle-worn raiment. Long hair of sable hung wet and dripping past his sharp cheekbones and an angry snarl curled his thin lips as he snatched the severed head from the surging foam.“I have given your demon-kisser what she damn well deserved,” Tsonia spat, struggling to place her feet for a quick strike. But the heaving deck gave no quarter and left her clutching at the broken walls for balance.“You have damned us all, you stupid cow!” the empty-eyed man growled. “Like demons, storms are easy to summon but nigh impossible to control. And you just slew the one person who might have done so!”If possible, the hungry storm outside intensified, howling wind cutting through every tiny gap in the ship’s hull like the wail of unquiet dead. Ferocious waves tossed the ship. With a crash of splintering wood, a seismic wave shook the broken structure as the fragile ships were smashed together in the turbulent gale. There suddenly was the rush of water, very loud and very near.Tsonia found herself drawn to his stoic magnetism, and recognized the force of his presence instinctively. This man could be none other than Kelgore himself. His ebon eyes marked him as demonically debased, just as her own black blood marked her. It explained much about his wild success against the Xhastrians.“Since you seem to know so much about demons and storms, you must be Kelgore,” Tsonia bellowed over the clangor of the storm. “My hunt has come to an end at last!”Heedless of the precarious surroundings, Tsonia lunged, her blade aiming for the dread pirate’s heart. But the blow never connected.A murderous god’s fist shook the world as another mighty wave crashed down upon the interlocked and damaged ships. Already crippled, Kelgore’s vessel finally broke. Wood tore like paper, friend and foe were tossed like rice grains in a tornado. A widening circle of debris was tossed about by the raging waves. And Tsonia was in the midst of it all, sinking into the fathomless depths, the taunting smile of Kelgore still before her eyes.How had it all gone so wrong, Joras wondered as he clung to the rail of the tossing ship. Two weeks ago it had started out as such a pleasant adventure. The ocean breeze was warm and spiced with the scent of salt and pitch. The sea birds heralded Tyrant’s Blade as they followed the coastline under sail, saving the strength of the oarsmen. He’d filled pages of his sketchbook with Tsonia, Ambrose, and the crew.Why, he’d even managed to sketch a school of gamboling spout-fish as they playfully followed in the ship’s wake.But then two days ago the lookout had spotted the billowing smoke over the ruins of a fishing village, and soon after the lone ship that sailed away. The pleasant hunting cruise had turned into a grim pursuit as all aboard saw the Xhastrian reward close enough to claim. The seas grew choppy and the skies grew dark. The seabirds fell behind and the salt spray threatened his sketches as they chased Kelgore out into the open ocean.Joras was glad to have his precious pages wrapped in oil cloth and stowed safely in the aft castle, but it meant the image of Tsonia leaping from the crashing prow into the throng of pirates had to be roughed out in his memory alone and he always seemed to lose the little details that brought a painting of his muse to life.He wished he had the fortitude to follow Tsonia to the bow, to see and record the way Tyrant’s Blade pierced the other ship like a violent lover. From aft, he lost sight of Tsonia in the skirmish. All he could see was the feeble attempts of Kelgore’s oarsmen to dislodge the intruding ram. But the two small vessels were too tightly conjoined. Kelgore’s sail dragged the pair spiraling through the tempestuous waves and Ambrose held his rudder to pry deeper into the broken hull.With a crack of thunder the sky suddenly tore open and a deluge of rain overwhelmed sight and sound. Joras couldn’t make out more than shadows through the downpour. He clung to the railing as the deck dropped away beneath his feet, and then heaved upwards again.“The storm’s gotten worse,” he remarked with as casual a tone as he could muster while shouting to be heard.“It has,” agreed Ambrose, leaning all his weight against the tiller while straining to see the battle at the front of his ship.“Of course, I’m sure you’ve seen worse,” Joras added, trying to sound confident. “I’m sure you’ve survived dozens of squalls worse than this.”Thunder ripped the air again, and through the veil of rain Joras saw a blinding spike of lightning drive through the mast of Kelgore’s ship, shattering it like summer hay under the flail.“No,” Ambrose turned to face Joras and Joras saw the fear in the captain’s eyes. “No, this is the kind of storm that turns fishermen into farmers.”“It’s funny,” Joras yelled. “The farmers have the opposite saying about droughts.”Ambrose didn’t laugh. He abandoned the tiller to swing wildly to and fro at the whims of an angry ocean and joined Joras at the rail. Reaching into his soaking tunic, Ambrose tore a large key from the lanyard around his neck and forced into Joras hand.“Go below and free the oar-slaves,” he shouted. “None of us may survive, but I’ll not condemn them to certain death. I’ve got to tell the crew to save themselves.” With that grim instruction, Ambrose drew a brass-hilted cutlass and fought his way forward against the tide of the raging storm.The terror Joras had been wrestling with broke free and he felt its oppressive weight on his chest, buckling his knees and squeezing the air from his lungs. He’d faced peril and death often enough since he had decided to follow Red Tsonia on her quest for fame and glory, but always at the hands of a foe that could be defeated. How does one slay a storm? He could not depend on the unmatched prowess of his muse to save him this time. It was up to him.Joras summoned what courage he could find, and steeled himself to the task at hand. After Kelgore’s ship had been rammed, the crew had all gone to fight and had left the oar-slaves to recover their strength. Below his feet were fifty souls chained to their benches and Joras alone held their fates quite literally in his hand. Willing himself to release his iron grip on the rail, he charged across the pitching deck, lost his footing and tumbled through the open hatch and down the steep flight of stairs.He landed with a splash and clambered to his feet gasping for air in waist-deep water. If the maelstrom above was chaotic, the bedlam below was nightmarish. The howls of terrified men in the sightless dark drowned out the creak and groan of the stressed timber and the splash of churning water. The slaves pulled at their chains and beat at their restraints with chunks of broken wood or even their raw flesh. They knew Tyrant’s Blade was sinking, and that they had been abandoned to die.“Where are the locks!?” Joras cried over the din, desperately trying to get someone’s attention. “I have your key! By the gods, where are the locks?”As the water continued to rise, sloshing from side to side as the forsaken ship rolled in the angry storm, Joras was blindly herded towards the bow. With grasping hands guided by barely coherent cries of instruction, he found a stout padlock securing a heavy brass chain. It ran the length of the ship, passing through the shackle of each slave manning the twelve upper oars on that side. Fitting the key by touch, he turned it and released the chain.With a frantic jangle of metal, the first lucky group of oarsmen freed themselves and clambered over each other in a frenzied flight for the hatch. Those who remained bound wailed for their release even louder than before as Joras sought desperately in the dark for a matching lock on the opposite side of the hold. He found it at last, fumbled with the key, and was rewarded with a satisfying metallic clank.But as the second group of slaves fled the doomed vessel and the water crept up towards Joras’s chest, he realized with horror that the men on the lower banks of oars were secured with their own chains and locks, locks that were fastened under the churning floodwaters. Trapped below the benches of the upper oarsmen, the lower slaves were unable to even stand fully, and craned their necks to keep their shrieking faces above the rising water.Taking a deep breath, Joras dropped below the surface and found himself battered about by the surging flood. He clung to any handhold he could find in the dark, groping blindly for the hidden lock with the taste of metal on his tongue as he clenched the key in his teeth.His lungs began to burn and he feared his quest was in vain. His instincts screamed for the surface and life-giving air, but his will dwelt on the plight of those men who had no hope beyond him. Just as his will was foundering and his fear grew beyond his control, Joras’s fingers found the familiar curve of a padlock ring. Feeling for the keyhole with his thumb, he gracelessly jammed in the key and managed to turn it just as his instinct drove him back to the surface.There was no time to catch his breath. He had to go back for the key he’d left behind before he could even begin to search for the last lock. The inches of air that remained for the agonized men bound to the last oar benches waxed and waned as the waters sloshed back and forth with the rolling of the storm-tossed ship.And so back down Joras went, but in the swirling currents of the flooded hold he found that he had no more idea where to find the lock than he had the first time.Panic and guilt gripped Joras’s heart as he clawed desperately in the dark for the missing key. Had he really been so foolish as to lose it? Why had he not held his breath but a scant second longer? He endured the agony in his lungs to his very limit but had to come up for air empty-handed. The pitiful pleas of the doomed men that filled his ears sent him right back under the water with barely a breath.Then, through the crude woodwork he clung to, Joras felt more than heard the terrible creaking of timber and the shattering of the ship’s beam. He was suddenly seized by a mighty current that tore away his grip and flushed him tumbling through the dark water head over heels into the ravaged ocean until he lost all perception of up or down.Lungs aflame with need, Joras thrashed and fought in vain, weighed down by his sturdy traveling clothes and heavy orange cloak. He felt his consciousness collapsing, his limbs growing heavy, the water seeping towards his lungs. As the silence and the blackness took him, Joras found some small justice in knowing that he shared the same fate as the chained men he had failed.And suddenly there was blinding light and thunderous noise and wracking pain in his chest as he hacked and sputtered on the surface of the turbulent sea.“I should never have mocked your garish wardrobe!” shouted a familiar voice over the prattle of the rain. “The orange of your cloak is the only thing to be seen in this downpour!”“Kaela!" Joras gasped! "Gods be praised!”Tsonia dunked Joras back under the water before he had found breath. “I’ve told you not to call me that,” she admonished when she’d pulled him coughing back into the air. “And don’t give thanks too soon. This storm is ravenous, and we are still in its maw.”With powerful strokes, Tsonia dragged Joras through the rolling swells to a broken chunk of flotsam and there they clung as the witch’s storm raged around them.The first thing Ambrose saw when his senses returned was the war goddess, now a malformed, headless husk of bronze sitting astride a bent ram pointing at the churning skies above. Coughing up briny water, he forced himself into a sitting position and tried to comprehend the enormity of the destruction surrounding him.Tyrant’s Blade was no more. The prow, reinforced as it had been, loomed like a macabre monument over the bone-white beach he had found himself on. Dark shapes had washed up on the sand, splintered planks, scattered bodies, their limbs and spines twisted and broken, gulls pecking at their remains. Nothing seemed to move apart from the clouds overhead and the waves rushing up to meet the sand, occasionally depositing another piece of flotsam on the shore.Ambrose had been through his fair share of catastrophes, some self-inflicted, some visited upon him by his enemies or the capricious nature of the sea. None had even come close to the horrors he had witnessed in those last, lightning-struck moments. Torrential waves had washed men overboard screaming. Both ships had broken apart under the churning sea’s relentless assault. Ambrose too had been ripped from the deck of his trusty vessel into the pitch-black maws of the raging ocean and battered between broken timbers.Somehow, he had survived. The denizens of the deep didn’t fancy his soul this time. They didn’t let him off easy either.Moaning softly, he clutched his throbbing head. His fingers found a long gash along his temple. The cut was shallow but burned like the fires of hell. Breathing hurt too. With trembling fingers, Ambrose examined his sore rump, encountering bruises and cuts but thankfully no broken bones. Carefully testing his limbs, Ambrose fought to his knees and then his feet. His left ankle ached when he put weight upon it, but then his whole body sang in pain.Grabbing half an oar to steady himself, he dragged himself up the beach, away from the greedy ocean. Maybe fifty yards ahead, a veritable wall of green awaited him. Towering trees, sail-sized leaves and vines promised a nigh-impenetrable thicket, probably rife with sharp-toothed predators longing for easy prey. And beyond those viridian fortifications, spitting an ominous plume of smoke, a steep-sloped volcano loomed.Ambrose sighed. Finding his way off these inhospitable shores would be no easy feat. He had to assume he wasn’t the only survivor and there was a good chance that others might be Kelgore’s men, out to finish what the storm had started.Now further away from the crashing waves, Ambrose could hear other noises too, most of them unsettling and ominous. Echoing screeches or howls emanated from the jungle and a low, sonorous rumble seemed to come up through his feet, announcing that the volcano was much less quiet than he had hoped. His hand went to the sheath at his belt, but his prized blade had vanished in the maelstrom, torn from his fingers by the ravenous waters.He cast his gaze about in the vain hopes to spot it or something similar nearby, now keenly aware that he was among the few things moving on that beach and therefore easily spotted by friend and foe alike. Cursing his ankle, he hobbled back towards the shoreline, aiming for the closest pile of debris. There was no storage chest, no rack of weapons with blades, spears and axes to be found. Only a couple of pews, their construction sturdy enough to withstand a slave revolt were close at hand. A section of hull was still bolted to them. Ambrose couldn’t tell if it was a part of Tyrant’s Blade or Kelgore’s ship. There were no bodies he recognized either way. Sighing, he sank onto one of the pews, taking weight off his aching leg.Once more the stranded captain gazed at the sky. It was hard to tell the time of day, with the clouds roiling overhead. Even worse, it was hard to tell where he was. They had followed Kelgore’s ship along the Xhastrian coast before the pirate had steered away to the west, towards the open seas and out of the reach of the Green Cities. There shouldn’t have been any land in that direction, not even scattered islands were marked on the maps he had memorized so well in his years at the helm of Tyrant’s Blade. Yet here he was, on an unfamiliar beach with one leg impaired, no weapons to speak of, and a growing feeling of vulnerability and unease creeping up his spine. He would need food, water, and shelter to survive, warmth to dry himself and weapons to guard against his enemies, be they two- or four-legged.About to resume his trawl of the beach, he steadied himself for the inevitable stab of pain from his ankle when he heard voices coming closer. Muffled by the thick wood between himself and the voices, he couldn’t tell friend from foe. Bating his breath, he allowed them to pass him by, his body hidden in the shadow of the torn hull.And then Ambrose’s heart leapt with joy, for the scarlet tresses he saw could belong to only one person.“Tsaugh,” he croaked, not realizing how dry his throat was, or how blistered his lips. “Tson,” he tried again, but loud enough now to be heard over the crashing surf.Tsonia turned, and Joras with her. Both were sunburned and blistered, crusted with salt and sand. Joras leaned heavily on her shoulder, his footsteps faltering in the loose sand. Her hands were bloody to the wrist, and in one she carried a sandy thigh-bone that Ambrose preferred not to contemplate. Yet the smile that graced her lips was perhaps the loveliest thing he had ever laid eyes upon.“Do not try to speak,” she whispered when she had come back close enough to be heard. Her voice was dry and hoarse as well, but she gently sat Joras down upon the bench and leaned the two men into each other for support. The bloody femur she placed in Ambrose’s hand, closing his fingers around it like a cudgel.“Look after each other,” she wheezed. “I’ll find water and be back.”From his shoulder, Joras unslung an empty water gourd in a woven hanger, its stopper dangling by its tether. They must have found it washed ashore among the wreckage, or perhaps bobbing along with them as they drifted on the waves. Just as Joras handed the gourd up to Tsonia, they all looked up with a start.From the jungle came the sonorous rhythm of drums.“Where there are people,” Tsonia said with a smile, “there must be water.”The jungle canopy cast dancing shadows across the surface of the rippling pool that filled the hillside hollow. It was broad and deep, fed by a gurgling spring and surrounded by moss-covered stones and twisted tree roots. From the low end of the pond a trickle of water overflowed its basin and tumbled splashing down the hill, through the jungle, and eventually across the sandy beach to the sea. The small stream was too shallow and too sparse to slake a dying man’s thirst. Any who wished to drink deeply would have to follow the water upstream to the spring.And so by the spring, Kelgore waited.“The drums are moving,” he said. “They were coming from that direction. Now they’re over there.”“No, not moving,” came the reply. “Different drums. Different people. Only the message moves.”Kelgore thought about it and admitted silently to himself that it was probably true.“We should go. We should seek out those drums and turn the natives to our cause. Perhaps they can return us to civilized lands.”“No,” answered Kelgore. “We wait. Any of my men who wash ashore will find their way here. I would rather face the natives with a loyal force at my back.”“It’s dangerous. Any of the sell-swords who wash ashore will also find their way here.”“Then I will turn them to my cause or they will die.” Kelgore thumbed the blade of his knife before securing it snuggly back in its sheath.“Don’t be a fool, boy! You let your prejudice for culture and sophistication blind you. You were born to rule over all men, not just the civilized sheep of the Green Cities. Find these natives and lead them to the throne that is your destiny!”“Quiet, mother!" Kelgore snapped. "Someone’s coming.”The old corne’s severed head sat wedged in the crook of a tree branch where Kelgore hid watching the jungle pool. For too long the old witch had brow-beaten his obedience, but the tables had turned. It was she who was now dependent upon him. If he chose to feed her to the gulls or the fish, there was nothing she could do about it. He smirked with that confidence. Ignoring her scowl, he turned his attention back to the approaching footsteps.Through the jungle thicket across the pond, he spied her red hair first. He recognized her immediately, the vixen-warrior who had cut down his mother in cold blood and condemned them all to these savage shores. Unless he missed his guess, she was the mercenary known as Red Tsonia or Bloody Tsonia depending on who spun her tale. Kelgore once thought it presumptuous that she should take the name of the ancient warrior queen, but having seen her quality in person, he thought it might be apt after all.“Kill her!” hissed his mother, beneath the drone of the beating drums, the calls of tropical birds, and the rustle of the foliage in the sea breeze. “Avenge me!”“Shush!” he insisted.The flame-haired warrior spied the pool of sweet water and broke into a run. She dropped to her knees and scooped double handfuls to her mouth, letting the excess spill down her chest and stomach and thighs. When she had drunk her fill, she took an empty water gourd from her shoulder and plunged it bubbling beneath the surface.When she withdrew the gourd, Kelgore saw her hesitate before plugging it with its stopper. She looked back over her shoulder, then turned to face the drums in the distance. She sat for a moment in contemplation and then poured the water slowly over her own head, rolling her neck and massaging the clean water through her salt-stiffened hair.Tsonia closed her eyes, luxuriating in the cool water that rinsed away the ocean’s residue.Kelgore saw his chance to ambush her, to strike swiftly in her vulnerability, but he tarried.Tsonia filled the gourd again to finish rinsing her hair. She wiped the sand and grime from her face, and poured the last of the water down her chest. Kelgore could feel his manhood swell as Tsonia laid the gourd aside and pulled the ragged chainmail vest off over her head, exposing her ample breasts.“I would have her,” he murmured, as she bathed her bare shoulders, chest, and midriff by the burbling jungle spring. “I shall turn her to our cause and I shall have her.”“Fool!” spat his mother. “This is no fish-monger’s daughter, no doe-eyed waif. She is demon tainted, much as you were.”“Yes,” agreed Kelgore, feeling the lust rising in his chest as he watched Tsonia bathe. “But just think of the grandchildren she could give you.”“Dozens of bellies swell with my grandchildren all along the Xhastrian coast. How many grandchildren do I need?”“My mind is set and I shall not be dissuaded, mother. Now be silent, or will feed your tongue to the gulls!”“You’ve grown insolent since that bitch killed me,” he heard her grumble under her breath, but she said no more.Across the pond, Tsonia filled the gourd again, then stood and began to unfasten the chainmail skirt that hung from her shapely hips. Kelgore felt a certain satisfaction when he saw her jump as he stepped out from the cover of vines and thicket. He held his hands empty at his sides, but there was a hypnotic twinkle in his obsidian eyes.“You can be none other than Red Tsonia,” he called to her. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.”Her eyes roamed over him, taking his measure. They lingered on his groin for a heartbeat before wandering higher, meeting his eye. Before he could exert his formidable will through his demon-tainted eyes though, she bent low and poured water from the gourd into her palm, continuing her bath. Kelgore exhaled slowly. Dumb luck made her evade his beguiling gaze this time, but there would be ample opportunity.“Sneaking up on me while I’m bathing isn’t the wisest course of action,” Tsonia said, her wet hands roaming her muscular thighs.“And yet, you seem oddly at ease for being naked and helpless,” Kelgore said.Tsonia poured more water, slowly rinsing her hips and the faint tuft of mousy brown fuzz covering her femininity.“What makes you think I’m helpless?” she wondered. “In less than a heartbeat, I could be at your throat, gutting you with that knife on your belt and you would be helpless to stop me.”Kelgore closed his hand around the bronze-wound hilt of his knife. “Then why don’t you? You were sent to kill me, were you not?”Unperturbed, Tsonia washed her sex, her face hidden by her unbound mane of fiery tresses. “Indeed. The God-King gave me ample reason to slay you on the spot. But until I know how to return to Xhastria to claim the reward, I’d rather not have to carry around a decaying corpse.” Her head came up, flashing a cocky smile.Kelgore cleared his throat, ready to employ his charming voice as he’d done so often with officials and paupers both, nudging their inhibitions aside, making them listen to what Kelgore deemed reasonable. “I might be willing to follow you,” he crooned, his sultry voice reverberating in a certain way. “There is no reason for us to be enemies, at least not for the time being. You will find me a very willing hostage. Let it be said that Kelgore knows how to please.”He relinquished the hilt of his knife and caressed the sizable bulge in his robes, the embers of lust flaring to fiery life. Not only did he relish the sight of the naked warrior before him, her ample curves and taut limbs promising exhausting revelry, but the feeling of his mind ensnaring hers, the delicious sensation of his hypnotic tendrils exerting their subtle, yet overwhelming influence. Oh how he would delight in ravishing her, coaxing unspeakable pleasure from her body and mind both!Tsonia had stopped washing herself. Instead she swayed gently to the cadence of his words, her hands wandering her body, as if she were presenting herself for his approval, a quizzical smile on her ruby lips. “What do you have in mind?” she wondered.“Take hold of me,” Kelgore murmured, parting the salt-stiffened fabric of his clothes and offering his throbbing lance for her fingers. His free hand touched her luxurious, wet mane of fiery tresses, guiding her face towards his yearning manhood. Her breath was hot on his skin and her lust rushed up through his fingertips as they touched her scalp.At her touch, Kelgore’s vision blurred as he latched on to one of her secrets, wrapped in shadows at the edge of her mind, but right at the surface where the most important secrets are always kept. Kelgore became Tsonia. He saw through her eyes, heard through her ears, and relived the memory she wanted to bury but couldn’t.He was bound naked to an altar made from some strange green rock. The surface had been polished smooth by aeons of use. Thousands of bodies had languished here until they met their demise. Icons wrought from ribs and spines and skulls adorned torch lit alcoves. Naked priests and priestesses, their bodies painted with unholy symbols writhed around the altar, their voices brittle from hours of chanting. And towering over him, confusion and lust flickering in its monstrous eyes, was the jackal-headed demon Q'alan, his jet-black skin slick with sweat, his prodigious erection dripping with hellish seed.“More.” Kelgore heard himself beg through Tsonia’s swollen lips. The burning taste of demon seed clogged his throat. Patches of the vile stuff caked his breasts, his stomach. A veritable lake of it pooled under his behind. And his hand wandered downwards, splaying open his hungry cunt for the demon to see. Thick rivulets of demonic seeds, mixed with virginal blood dribbled over his fingers and onto the stained altar.“Give me more,” Tsonia’s voice demanded as she spread her legs as far as the chains around her ankles allowed. She rammed two fingers into her sex, displacing another gob of the foul seed. “You are not sated yet, are you?”Her voice was hoarse and rough, but there was something in it, a force even the mighty Q'alan could not resist. Growling, hot spittle dripping from its jagged teeth, it grasped Tsonia’s hips. A large, bulbous sensation pressed against her rear, demanding entry to that as-of-yet unspoiled orifice. Tsonia groaned and wailed as the demonic phallus forced her open, but her moans turned to cries of ecstasy as Q'alan’s mighty spear filled her up. The demon gasped and frothed at the maw as it relentlessly pounded her, trying to break that insolent human who dared to challenge him.And yet, he couldn’t. He was as much a slave to her body as she was helpless to escape the pummeling Q'alan unleashed upon her.Hours passed in a moment of Kelgore’s memory. The jackal-headed demon took Tsonia every which way, pouring unending streams of his demonic seed down her throat, cunt, or ass. His claws left bloody furrows in her unblemished flesh, but the wounds seemed to heal as soon as he gouged them. And instead of tiring, becoming weaker under his monstrous assault, she seemed to thrive, urging him on for another fuck.And then the unthinkable happened. Q'alan tired. His rampant shaft, which had been erect for days and able to spew gallons of his demonic fluids, flagged. Tsonia, breasts heaving in heat, grinned wantonly up at him. One of the chains holding her arms to the altar had broken and she beckoned, curling her fingers at her cum-streaked lips.“Have me drink from your well once more, oh mighty Q'alan,” she groaned, her body making disgusting, sucking sounds as she slithered on the cum-slick stones. “Your seed is sweet nectar to me.”Q'alan threw his head about in irritation. The priests and priestesses, by now only whispering their binding chants in hoarse, broken voices, were barely able to stand. Snarling, he lashed out, cutting open a priest from head to groin. Hot, bloody intestines fell to the floor in sloshing tangles. The man was too hoarse to even scream as his life cascaded onto the befouled tiles. But the deed was done. The circle was broken. Q'alan was no longer bound.Spitting curses upon his inept cult, the jackal-headed monster vanished in a gout of foul-smelling vapor, leaving behind a tangle of confused and fear-stricken priests. When they saw Tsonia reach for the second chain holding her body to the altar, the cultists clambered over one another to flee from the torch lit catacomb.The chain broke as Tsonia flexed her arm, her body infused with Q'alan’s hellish strength. There were no wounds. There was no pain, not even from her ravaged nethers which the demon had abused for uncountable hours. Her bones were stronger than the rusted shackles tethering her to the soiled stone altar and she broke them with contemptuous ease.Tsonia came to her feet, wishing she could break her mother’s neck as easily as she could break these chains. Kelgore understood how Tsonia’s own mother had offered her virgin daughter to Q'alan for the promise of influence, riches and power.His vision snapped back, the flickering images of the underground crypt replaced with the twilit glade. There were no chanting priests, just the irritated chatter of jungle birds and the unceasing beat of the distant drums. He was standing next to the spring, his fingers entwined in Tsonia’s magnificent locks, her lips locked around his throbbing manhood, her tongue a fluttering sensation almost as sweet as the taste of the secret he had plucked from her.“Yes,” he purred, slowly rolling his hips forwards. “You and I shall make a fine pair. Demon-blessed, you and I. The world will tremble at our offspring’s might!”Her answer was a hungry growl deep in her throat. Strong hands dug into his buttocks and her mouth exerted delicious suction. This was different from the scared waifs he had coerced into his bedchambers, different from the docile noblewomen he had twisted and broken for his amusement.Kelgore found it hard to find words under Tsonia’s dexterous assault. One hand dove under his clothes, finding his sac. Expertly, her calloused fingers caressed his balls.He didn’t dare use his voice, for fear of inadvertently breaking the spell he had just put upon her. None of his prior victims had displayed such vigor under his control. But then, he never had tried charming another demon-touched being before.Tsonia’s growl had turned into a playful purr. One hand pumped his shaft, her other was busy between her own thighs. Kelgore slowly fucked her glorious mouth, amazed at how deep she was able to take his lance. She spurred him on with moans, with a clawed hand to his buttocks and he obliged, feeding her his shaft until his loins curled up in that all-too familiar sensation of imminent release.Once more he drove his lance home, eagerly devoured by the red-headed temptress kneeling by the spring, and hot spurts of seed poured from him. Kelgore loosened a triumphant yell as his body shook from an almighty climax, more satisfying and visceral than anything those tepid Xhastrian whores had been able to coax from him!A low, ominous growl answered him, shattering the magic of the moment. Kelgore’s spell, tenuous as it had been, faded away. Tsonia, Kelgore’s seed dripping down her chin, shook her head as if she had just woken from a perturbing dream. Her eyes caught him, robes wide open, his erection still proudly on display and a grim expression settled on her beautiful face, promising the inevitability of untold torment.A flicker of comprehension dawned and she flung herself at him, tearing his knife from its sheath as she barreled into him. They tumbled into the grass. Tsonia, gloriously naked and wet sat astride his prone form, one hand a crushing vise around his throat, the knife hovering above his eye, poised for a lethal descent.“I don’t know what fell magic's you employed on me, but I hope for your sake there is a good reason why I have your taste all over my mouth!”Kelgore, stunned by her sudden fury and for once at a loss for words, noticed movement in the branches above. A tall, man-like shadow watched with unknowable intent. Two more shades silently joined on adjacent branches. They carried nets made from vines and short spears tipped with stone points. Inquisitive eyes flicked this way and that. Their heads inclined as if in conversation, but whatever whispers they uttered were unheard over the rumble of the drums.There was no air to breathe. There was no air to bargain with. He could wait and hope the strangers would free him from Tsonia’s grasp, but Kelgore doubted he could hold on for that long. He’d rather take his chances with her than the ominous strangers. Croaking a warning, he raised his arm, pointing.Tsonia opened her mouth in a stillborn question. Before she could give words to her thoughts, a feathered dart sprouted from her neck. On instinct, Tsonia pulled it free, relinquishing Kelgore’s throat. Greedily, he sucked air into his burning lungs as Tsonia came to her feet, warily searching for the attackers.Ever the opportunist, Kelgore grasped the chance at freedom. He mustered his voice. “Drop the knife!”Tsonia obeyed, relinquishing his blade. Then her fighting instincts took over and she tumbled to the side, just as tall, muscular shapes arose from the undergrowth around them. Kelgore plucked his weapon from the ground and came to his feet in a scrabbling run, sprinting towards the tree where he had left his mother’s head. The first dart missed him by a finger’s breadth, but the second found its mark.A soothing calm fell over Kelgore as he stood there, watching Tsonia naked and grappling with a green-skinned savage. Slowly sinking to his knees, he was certain he saw Tsonia’s hips roll in a particular motion against that man’s groin. An irrational burst of jealousy gripped his heart. How could she still be so full of energy while he only wanted to sprawl on the floor and sleep until that beautiful tranquility had passed? How was she so willing to copulate with a beastly savage while he was here, still horribly aching for her body?The last thing Kelgore saw before sleep took him was a grinning face, tongue wagging as someone or something slung him over her shoulder.The stone blade was aimed at her ribs but Tsonia held it at bay and threw her weight to the left. The man or beast or whatever it was that grappled her shifted his feet to compensate. For the brief moment he was off balance, Tsonia caught hold of a jungle root, anchored herself, and with a mighty twist of her hips she sent her attacker sprawling to the ground.Was this creature even a man? Only the leather skin wrapped around his loins and the strap slung over one shoulder suggested any degree of civilization. His skin mottled in shades of olive, sage, and lime, was unlike anything he had seen before.Atop his powerfully muscled torso the head had a feral, beastial quality. Short fur rippled in the breeze and thin flews curled around canine teeth in a face that was more muzzle than mouth. The man’s arms ended in strong, clawed hands. A sinuous, striped tail curled from a shapely backside and the hind legs bent backwards were built for long, powerful strides and ferocious jumps.As Tsonia stood, the jungle seemed to twist around her, a verdant kaleidoscope of madness. The beast man didn’t regain his feet as much as he sort of oozed into an upright posture. The short spear undulated in his grip. The tangle of jungle roots beneath her feet shifted as if she stood upon a lattice of ship’s cables and the constant drum beat became muddled and lethargic.Tsonia shook her head to clear the dart’s poison from her vision, but it did no good.With a growl of anger, the beast man charged flapping like a banner in the wind. Tsonia leapt away from his attack leaving her feet and hands behind. She found herself next to the bouncing pool, next to her discarded chainmail top, which crawled into her hand and wrapped itself around her fingers.Before she could reorient her senses, her foe was upon her, clawed fingers at her throat and the point of his spear driving into her shoulder. Black blood hissed against the flint.With a roar of pain, Tsonia bashed him across his stubby snout with her handful of rubbery chainmail knocking loose a fang from his slavering lips. It left an arc of crimson hanging in the air like a sanguine rainbow. She brought a knee up into his groin where his twisted loincloth provided no protection. The beast howled but did not release his grip. She could feel his claws piercing her throat like gimlets twisted into cork. Again she brought the chainmail flailing down on his head, this time ripping away a pointed ear.The beast man released her throat, and caught her wrist in a grip like twine wrapped around bread dough. It was the opening Tsonia had hoped for, and she followed his motion adding her own considerable strength to his momentum, rolling the pair of them down the colorful brook that scarpered idly away from the spring pool.They tumbled down the slope and the world seemed reluctant to drag itself around in a spiral. Tsonia felt as if everything was made of honey as green and brown and claw and chain were mingled by a slow spoon. She saw the breath expelled from her lungs as she landed hard on top of her attacker, his fuzzy chest against the bare skin of her neck and shoulders. His arms wrapped around her and his clawed hands raked at her exposed throat and midriff.A bloody cry caught in Tsonia’s throat. She clutched at the beast’s pulpy arms, hoping to arrest their assault when she noticed the long, trailing appendage wavering gently from her shoulder. It must be the spear haft, still embedded within her like a spent lover.With all the focus she could muster, Tsonia released her attacker and took the spear in her grip. Clenching her teeth and straining wary thews with all her demon-blessed might, Tsonia forced the spear point through her shoulder, out of her back, and into the heaving chest of the screaming creature beneath her.For another moment he fought on, even as his life slipped away from him.Tsonia felt the flesh of her throat and her stomach melding, knitting together like a weaver’s handiwork. She yanked the spear out of her own body, black blood hissing and steaming along its length, and she pushed herself up and up and up to her feet. She hadn’t realized the ground was so low.The jungle continued to swirl around her, twisting and undulating. The spear felt pliant in her hand, as if made of soft leather, but she knew it could not be so. She shook her head again to clear the fog of the dart’s poison, but to no avail.Above her, a coarse series of syllables were barked in a language Tsonia didn’t know. She blinked into the twining tendrils of the jungle and saw another man, like this one, waiting by the flat ground by the pool. He carried a short spear in one hand and a net in the other. Both seemed to flutter in time to the sonorous beat of the distant drums.“So your people have honor of a sort?” Tsonia asked, mounting the hill. “You could have joined your friend and ganged up on me, but instead you waited for single combat. You have my respect, but not my mercy.”She was battered and bloody, her skin caked with mud and what must have been Kelgore’s seed. But she recognized a challenge when it was issued and while she didn’t know what would happen if she declined, she knew she was too vain to find out.“I don’t suppose you’d let me dress first?”The second foe barked a single word, hefted his spear and began to circle Tsonia cautiously, a wary eye on the captured spear and the chainmail hauberk she wielded.“No? No, I suppose you’re almost as naked as I am. Fair is fair after all.”Tsonia lowered her weight and readied for his attack, trying to hold her opponent in focus as the jungle blended and kneaded itself around them.The beast man lunged, stabbing with his spear, an experimental strike to gauge Tsonia’s speed. She parried it easily, although the spear shafts felt supple as they met, the clack of contact numb and muted. Whipping her handful of chainmail, she attempted to catch her

“Daniel – From the Felts to the Zoo,” pt 3 John 17:9-15 New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition 9 I am asking on their behalf; I am not asking on behalf of the world but on behalf of those whom you gave me, because they are yours. 10 All mine are yours, and yours are […]

Come and listen to Greg teach the 3rd Who is Jesus sermon: talking about Jesus's titles of "Son of God; King of Isreal; and Son of Man".

Welcome to Pub Chat! These episodes are for us to have a more free-form way to discuss listener questions, shorter subjects, as well as magical happenings, musings, and of course, go off on tangents.In this week's Pub Chat we further explore the ever enigmatic and all-powerful Sant Clause. Using Santa legend and lore in the forms of songs, histories, and movies we look into Santa's feast day, Christmas, and what it all means for the depths of winter! In this exploration we also ask the following questions: What are Santa's powers and abilities? If a God what is Santa the God of? Is Santa the King of the Elves? Are Santa and the Elves actually Fairies? What does Christmas stuff arriving earlier and earlier in the year mean? Is this Santa making a power grab?

Donald Trump appeared to suffer the biggest meltdown that he has ever had when he made the all-caps announcement on Sunday evening that he would NOT be testifying in the fraud trial Monday (yesterday.) Trump claimed that he already had his "Perry Mason moment," and that there was no need to go back, especially since the gag order was still in place (which makes no sense.) Trump is losing his mind, and that could put a lot of people in danger.And disgraced former Republican Representative George Santos admitted during an interview with CBS New York that he is afraid of going to jail - he says that it is not a nice place and everyone should be afraid of it - and then admitted that he'd "happily" take a plea deal that involves anything other than jail. The likelihood of that happening is close to zero, as he even admits that he has nothing to offer prosecutors in return for a deal. Also, in a bit of an unusual move, special prosecutor Jack Smith submitted a filing to the court on Saturday evening that contained even more damning evidence against Donald Trump. Based on the filing, the new evidence suggests that there was "unanimous consent" among ALL of Trump's intelligence officials that there was no widespread evidence of fraud in the 2020 election. This massively undermines all of Trump's claims, and could ruin his potential defense.Finally, during a speech at the New York Young Republican Club this past weekend, Donald Trump doubled down on his promise to be a dictator "for one day" if he gets reelected. The crowd erupted in wild cheers that led into a chant of "build the wall," which just shows that these people have no problem with giving up the US Constitution to make Trump a God-King of this country. Farron talks about the terrifying statement and the even more horrifying reaction from the crowd. 

Because God has kept His promise to send Christ as the incarnate God-King from Bethlehem, we must acknowledge, worship and obey Him as saving Lord. - I. The Utter Failure of Human Leadership v 1- II. The Promise to send a True King to Lead His People v 2- III. The Majesty and Glory of the Coming King vv 3-5a

Because God has kept His promise to send Christ as the incarnate God-King from Bethlehem, we must acknowledge, worship and obey Him as saving Lord. - I. The Utter Failure of Human Leadership v 1- II. The Promise to send a True King to Lead His People v 2- III. The Majesty and Glory of the Coming King vv 3-5a

Because God has kept His promise to send Christ as the incarnate God-King from Bethlehem, we must acknowledge, worship and obey Him as saving Lord. I. The Utter Failure of Human Leadership v 1 II. The Promise to send a True King to Lead His People v 2 III. The Majesty and Glory of the Coming King vv 3-5a

Behold, Jesus, the Greatest King!Luke 1:31-32, Philippians 2:8, Mark 10:45, 1 John 2:1, John 15:15 Behold, Jesus, the God King!Luke 1:31-32, John 10:30-31 Behold, Jesus, the Messiah King!Luke 1:32-33 Behold, Jesus, the Eternal King!Luke 1:33 Behold, Jesus, the Perfect King!Luke 1:35, 2 Cor. 5:21--------DAILY DEVOTIONAL WITH RON MOOREGet Ron's Daily Devotional to your inbox each morning; visit biblechapel.org/devo.CAREGIVINGDo you have a need we can pray for? Do you need someone to walk alongside you? Do you know of another person who needs care? Let us know at caregiving@biblechapel.org.GROWTH TRACKWe all have a next step - what's yours? To learn more about our Growth Track and to take your next step, biblechapel.org/connect.

Last Sunday in Ordinary Time: Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe Solemnity; Liturgical Color: White or Gold The vastness of creation serves as the Lord's footstool This last Sunday in Ordinary Time is dedicated to the very highest understanding of the nature, role, and purpose of Jesus of Nazareth. Jesus is multifaceted, the deep hues and contours of his personality revealing themselves to different races and ages in different ways. More personally, even inside of just one single life, a Christian can understand Jesus in more subtle and complex ways as that particular Christian matures. Carpenter, Miracle Worker, Son of Mary, Son of God, Prophet, Messiah, Son of David, Good Shepherd, Healer, Preacher, Logos, Lamb of God, etc. Yet all these titles and identities will give way as the world ends, time is fulfilled, and life with God becomes simply life itself. Jesus' identity will culminate in His Kingship. It will not be a transitional but a terminal identity. The dead will come nose to nose with King Jesus, feeling His hot breath on their cheeks, as He judges them at their life's end. And the saved will have King Jesus before them in heaven forever as He renders homage to God the Father in the power of God the Holy Spirit.The feast of “Christ the King” was first established in 1925, and Pope Saint Paul VI expanded its name to “King of the Universe” in 1969. Jesus is not just a King of Hearts. He is more than mankind's universal Coach, Teacher, or Counselor. By “King of the Universe” the Church is communicating Jesus' metaphysical scale, that God encompasses all of reality, not just man's reality. We say in the Nicene Creed that God created all things visible and invisible. So Jesus is King over all the planets, stars, black holes, quasars, and exploding suns in the blackest corners of remote space. He is King over the earth and all its waterfalls, rainforests, mountain peaks, desert plains, and dark sea floors. He lords over all creation because He is its source. Saint Thomas Aquinas taught that God is not the most perfect being inside of creation but being itself. God is reality, not just the most impressive being inhabiting the reality bubble.This feast is an antidote to the private, or compartmentalized, Jesus who impacts only those spaces in the Christian's life where He is allowed to enter. Jesus wants to reign in every sphere of our lives, at home, on the factory floor, in the yard, at the office, over drinks, on the sports' field, in the car, at meals, on the phone, and on and on. His field of action has no borders. From one perspective, this is a challenging, and limiting, spirituality. Such an intrusive, all-encompassing God can make life feel like a cage, where self-expression is constrained by His rules. From another perspective, however, the total reign of God in our lives is freeing. It means that He is not found only in Church. Sunday Mass? Of course. But we need not have our fingers on the rosary to be close to God and Mary at all times. God is found inside of the daily duties that are the stuff of life. This is consoling. We are not distracted from the higher things as we manage a family, earn a living, exercise, raise the kids, or take care of the house. When the Lord is King of Everything, mundanities are not banalities. The world is richer and more alive when our life is an all-inclusive vocation.The anointed King was a tangible image of the hidden God in Western culture until modern times. Every earthly king was validated by the mighty God King who stood invisibly behind him, the One who benevolently ruled the universe as His own sacred republic. This understanding of God as a Divine Ruler gave a real sense of order, unity, and common purpose to all of reality which is lacking in modern, secular, democratic societies. Today's feast does not invoke, however, merely an image of Jesus representing someone else's Kingship but Jesus actually reigning as King. All the baptized should be glad to be subject to such a benevolent monarch.Christ the King, Your sovereignty over all creation is not heavy. You order all reality toward Yourself and govern Your creatures with justice and humility. Help us to be faithful and subservient to what You desire, so that we can live one day in Your heavenly kingdom.

This week we arrive at the definitive Blue Jays moment of this century Jose Bautista, the talisman for this era of the team caps off the craziest hour of playoff baseball we've ever seen with an emphatic home run in the biggest moment. We revisit the series of events that included a never-before-seen error by Russell Martin, a baby (?) getting hit by beer (?), and Elvis Andrus being cursed beyond a shadow of a doubt by the Baseball Gods, with three straight dropped balls to set the stage for the God King himself. You've probably heard the clip 500 times in your life by now, and we're giving you an excuse to make it 501. Sick of hearing all the ads? Subscribe to Soda Premium on Apple Podcasts to get rid of them!Follow @Sportsfeld on Twitter! While you're there say hello to @theZubes and @JGoldsbie or reach out to the show and say hey: podcast@sportsfeld.ca If merch is your thing, be sure to check out the store: http://bit.ly/merchfeld If you enjoyed today's show, please rate Sportsfeld 5-Stars on Apple Podcasts. And as always, thank you for listening to another episode of Sportsfeld.This show is part of the Spreaker Prime Network, if you are interested in advertising on this podcast, contact us at https://www.spreaker.com/show/3672435/advertisement

The book of Isaiah includes the prophet's vision of God seated upon his throne in the heavenly temple. A priest-king who also stoops to become the suffering servant of God to take punishment for sin.Read along with the story. Today we're reading Isaiah 6, 52-53.Thank you to our generous patrons who makes this show possible. The Bible Brief is listener-supported and brought to you by the Bible Literacy Foundation, dedicated to helping people like you learn the Bible. Looking for more? Check out our website at biblelit.org.Support the showSupport the show: Tap here to become a monthly supporter!Review the show: Tap here!Newsletter: BibleLit Newsletter Sign-UpListener Survey: Survey LinkWebsite: biblelit.orgInstagram: @biblelitTwitter: @bible_litFacebook: @biblelitEmail the Show: biblebrief@biblelit.orgThis episode primarily uses the ESV Bible translation, but may also use CSB, NASB, and NKJV.Search Tags: bible, beginner, bible verse, god, verse of the day, prayer, jesus, bible study, scripture, learn, bible introduction, introduction, intro to the bible, introduction to the bible, beginner bible, bible overview, how to read the bible, what is the bible about, bible story, bible stories, what is the bible, bible study, walkthrough, bible walkthrough,...

Rawcel Cooks & Davy Brown, ZupaNova: International two-time Top 40 EDM and Hip Pop Music GroupNorvell Robinson, a passionate Software Engineer has been programming for a decade. He is a Detroit native and Wayne State University graduate in Computer Science B.S. Norvell has a multitude of experience from neural networking to the music genius games at Raxplay.THE MASTER ARTIST JASON LEEGLOBAL ART WEALTH INVESTMENT LEGACY ADVISOR.Movie Reviews and More is broadcast live Tuesdays at 5PM PT.Movie Reviews and More TV Show is viewed on Talk 4 TV (www.talk4tv.com).Movie Reviews and More Radio Show is broadcast on K4HD Radio - Hollywood Talk Radio (www.k4hd.com) part of Talk 4 Radio (www.talk4radio.com) on the Talk 4 Media Network (www.talk4media.com). Movie Reviews and More Podcast is also available on Talk 4 Podcasting (www.talk4podcasting.com), iHeartRadio, Amazon Music, Pandora, Spotify, Audible, and over 100 other podcast outlets.

Sacha Stone is a former rock musician and artist who decided to focus on global humanitarian initiatives for a New Earth with sustainable technologies that would protect the global environment and unlock human potential. In 1999, he established his first non-government organization, Humanidad, which quickly gained international prominence. This led to him being given a senior position within the United Nations to coordinate international humanitarian efforts by non-government organizations. After two years, however, he resigned from his position due to incompetence and high-level corruption within the UN system. Stone has ever since worked tirelessly to expose corruption and global manipulation by a satanic group of elites; to bring about a more ethical, peaceful world; and to stop all forms of child and human trafficking. He is dedicated to empowering the latent “God-King” potential in human DNA connected to humanity's Anunnaki creators, particularly the Enki faction. In this Exopolitics Today Interview, Stone discusses how his research and activism relate to extraterrestrial life and technology both in the ancient and modern world. Website: Sachastone.com --- Support this podcast: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/exopolitics/support

Siri and the God King make some progress on his learning, while Vivenna and co. continue to make progress in their own way. The big thing, though, is Lightsong's storyline seems to be really kicking into gear, which is exciting for our podcast crew. Everything is moving along smoothly on this week's episode of The Sanderlanche!

The crew has been looking for some action, and they got ... well, SOME action and a cute zombie squirrel. So there's that. Vasher is back this week, up to some weird shenanigans. Secrets about the God King are revealed both to Siri and to us, and everyone is speculating left and right about what this could mean for the rest of the book on this week's episode of The Sanderlanche!

Episode Summary Bex and Inmn talk about first aid and why it's super important for everyone to know a little. They talk about different trainings you can take, different situations you might need to know first aid for, what the world of street medics is like, and when to seek higher levels of care. They also talk about a really helpful zine by Riot Medicine called Basic First Aid for Emergencies. Host Info Inmn can be found on Instagram @shadowtail.artificery. Guest Info Bex can be found nowhere. However, Riot Medicine, the writers of Basic First Aid for Emergencies, can be found at riotmedicine.net where you can find a lot more resources on learning about first aid, and responding to emergencies and all sorts of situations. You can read Basic First Aid for Emergencies here. Publisher Info This show is published by Strangers in A Tangled Wilderness. We can be found at www.tangledwilderness.org, or on Twitter @TangledWild and Instagram @Tangled_Wilderness. You can support the show on Patreon at www.patreon.com/strangersinatangledwilderness. Transcript Live Like the World is Dying: Bex on First Aid Inmn Hello, and welcome to Live Like the World is Dying, your podcast for what feels like the end times. I'm your host Inmn Neruin and I used to them pronouns. This week we're talking about something super important that we've covered in bits and pieces in other episodes and that is first aid. This episode was used on our other podcast that I host called Strangers in a Tangled Wilderness. On that podcast we have a voice actor narrate our monthly zine and I do an interview with the author. This month we chose to use our zine Basic First Aid for Emergencies by Riot medicine and invited our friend Bex to talk about first aid. Bex is not the author of the zine but does know a lot about first aid. And since this is a very much a Live Like the World is Dying topic, we decided to feature it over here. Content warning, we talked about blood and bodies. I mean, the precious light that fills our bodies. There's no blood in us. Bex has been on Live Like the World is Dying before to talk about treating gunshot wounds and it was one of the first episodes. So, go back and listen to that one if you haven't already. But first, we are a proud member of the Channel Zero Network. And here is a jingle from another show on that network. Doo doo doo doo. Inmn Real quick. We just launched a Kickstarter for Penumbra City, the TTRPG that we've been writing--we being Strangers in a Tangled Wilderness. The Kickstarter launched on June 1st, which might have been yesterday or might have been a long time ago. Watch the game that inspired the short story Confession to a Dead Man come to life. We also have an actual play recording of us playing that game that just came out on this feed right before this episode. So give it a listen. And check out the Kickstarter at kickstarter.com/projects/penumbra-city/penumbra-city. Find your friends. Kill the God King. Inmn And we're back. Thank you so much for coming on the podcast today and for talking. Bex Woo! Inmn And for talking to us about this thing that is just so important and something that we will...a topic that we absolutely can't cover in a single podcast episode but we're gonna try to get through the basics of. Would you like to introduce yourself and just tell us a little bit about your background in first aid and like responding to emergencies? Bex Yeah, my name is Bex, thanks so much for having me on the podcast. Stoked to be here. I first got involved with doing first aid or like emergency medical response in 2010 when I took my first street medic training with the Rosehip [Collective] medics out of Portland. Previous to that I, you know, was like a youth lifeguard and things like that. But, I feel like that's that training in 2010 kind of kicked me off on a different path and I've been sort of running as a street medic since then and running medic trainings and street medic trainings for the last 10 years. And, now work professionally doing wilderness first aid trainings as well. I'm having...I'm not like an expert medical practitioner, but I do have a bit of experience and I'm extremely passionate about education and sharing knowledge and making this skill set accessible to folks who are interested in it. Inmn Yeah, yeah. And it's funny because I feel like people who...like there are a lot of people who are like, extreme experts in a field or something, but are like, maybe not as excited about teaching or education or finding ways to introduce people to those worlds as much. So. Bex Yeah, and especially in the sort of medical industrial complex, I feel like it's a place where people often feel extremely alienated both from their own bodies and also from being able to access information about how to take care of themselves or take care of people around them. And, I feel like trying to break that down and make that...change emergency medical response from something that is, like, highly specialized and professionalized to something that is available and accessible for everyone is tight. Inmn Yeah, yeah, it is a very, very cool thing. And, you know, that's part of what this zine is supposed to do, it's supposed to kind of break down the barriers to just, you know, people who have no medical training to have some kind of foothold in responding to different emergencies. But to kind of back up from that--although listeners, we are probably not going to like go through this zine, page by page in this interview because that would, one, take way more time than we have on this podcast to talk about all the topics and, two, because it is possibly not the best way to learn about the minutiae of these topics. So, we're gonna focus mostly on talking about what first aid is and why it's important and how you can learn more about it outside of an hour long podcast. But, Bex, Could you could you tell us kind of like what...what is first aid? And what is kind of the scope of first aid? Bex Yeah, the like, general gist of first aid is: it's the very first care or intervention that someone receives, or gives to themselves when a illness or injury occurs. So, this is usually what's happening by a layperson, someone who's not a professional, and is happening in, you know, where the injury or illness is happening rather then in a clinical setting. And this can range from the everyday first day that we give ourselves at home, like, "Oh, I got a cut. I'm gonna wash it out in the kitchen sink and put a band-aid on it." Or it could also be in a protest scenario or it could be in a wilderness scenario or it could be anywhere. Anywhere there are people doing things there is first aid happening. Inmn Cool. That is a very great explanation for first aid. And, for folks who are kind of like less knowledgeable--maybe they're hearing these phrases for the first time--what is a street medic? And what do street medics do? Bex What do street medics do. [inflected as more of a statement] Yeah, so a street medic is basically someone who has some amount of emergency medical response training, who goes out in a protest or demonstration sort of scene, whether that is mobilization in the street, or whether it's hanging with their affinity group, or whether it's place based, sort of like encampment type of protest, or anything like that, and responding to the types of illnesses and injuries that we might see in those settings, including things like dealing with police munitions, chemical weapons, or potentially gunshot wounds, as well as like, "Ah! The bike brigade hit me and I fell over and now I'm scraped up," or whatever, but it's basically doing some emergency medical response in a protest setting. Inmn Well, cool, and what kind of training do street medics usually have? Or like could that vary? I'm asking you leading questions I know the answers to. Bex Well, there's controversy here actually. I would say that the gold standard for street medics is to have a twenty-hour training. In that twenty hours, you can really cover the depth and breadth of how to do a basic patient assessment system to make sure that you are really understanding the full picture of what's going on with a person that you are supporting and you learn different types of interventions, whether that's wound care, eye flushes for chemical weapons, how to tell if someone has a spinal injury, all kinds of things. You get to practice in a bunch of like fun hands on scenarios. People do shorter trainings as well. There's like bridge trainings for folks who are already coming from a professional medical background but want to get involved in sort of street medic stuff. And then there are also much shorter trainings, like just "stop the bleed trainings" or things like that where you're just dealing with major hemorrhaging bleeds. Inmn So...Oh, and like, sometimes, you know, street medics obviously have varying levels of training, like whether they have the twenty-hour training or whether they're coming to it with like, you know, like, I know nurses who are street medics. I know, doctors who are street medics. I know EMTs, wilderness EMTs, like people with wilderness first responder certifications. So there's a...Or like, herbalists or clinicians. Like there's such like a wide scope to who practices street medicine, right? Bex Yeah, definitely. And, then there's also this other side of the spectrum where, because street medics for decades now in protests have been sort of like a visible element of many protests scenarios, it can also be tempting for people to adopt this as their identity. And they're like, "This is what I do. I am a street medic and I stand on the sidewalk where I'm really safe and I don't actually participate in anything. And I've like been in situations where you've got like, ten medics, and you've got like, ten legal observers, and you've got, you know, like, a police liaison, and then there's like five people actually involved in the protest. And I would just really encourage breaking that down. And, I think that you can be supporting people and like providing emergency response or first aid while also being a really active, engaged participant in movement spaces and in demonstrations. And like approaching that with like, some nuance or some caution about like, "Hey, am I gonna mark myself as a medic if I'm gonna go do this sketchy thing? Maybe not." But like, Yeah, I think that finding like these niche ways to...or like these kind of, like, ways to bring our skills to protest movements is really awesome but not at the detriment of also being really active participants in all of the things that we're interested in and feel up for engaging. Inmn Well, yeah, and maybe we'll talk about that a little bit more later. But, before we get too heavy into theory, I just want to I just want to go over this is zine. So folks, if you're listening on the Strangers in a Tangled Wilderness podcast or if you're listening on the Live Like the World is Dying podcast, we have this zine called Basic First Aid for Emergencies, it was put out by a group called Riot Medicine and it is the first in a series of skills series zines that we're putting out, which we are woefully behind on. If you know a cool skill, and you would like to write a zine for this series of skill scenes, then you know, get in touch with us. So, this zine was put out by Riot medicine and Riot Medicine is an entity that puts out essentially medical information specifically geared at people who might go to things that, you know, some people might classify as riots or like responses to kind of like police violence or violence from the, you know, alt right or fascists. I mean, you know, fascists all of a different name. And the zine, it goes through some really kind of baseline stuff, like stuff that someone with no medical training might find as helpful tips. It talks about safety, your safety, kind of like environmental hazards, and it talks about, like, personal protective equipment that you should consider. It talks about a layperson's guide to finding someone's vital signs. It talks about best practice ways to move people who might not be able to move themselves. There is a very brief introduction to compression-only CPR, there's a brief guide to wounds, specifically for severe bleeding and then for minor wounds. There's a section on burns, heat illness--which we did an entire episode on heat illness before, so if you want to learn more about heat illness, go back and listen to "Guy on Heat Illness"--talks about hypothermia, frostbite, talks about clean water, and then kind of has a basic construction for what a first-aid kit could contain. And that is available for free to read on our website or you can get it mailed to you. And Riot Medicine also, they....just to kind of go through some of the things that Riot Medicine puts out. If you go to their website, Riotmedicine.net, you can find a more comprehensive guide to to learning about medic stuff, they put out a full length textbook called Riot Medicine, it's yeah, it is massive. It is 466 pages, which includes an absolutely obscene amount of information that might, you know, peruse at your leisure. They also put out a smaller field guide. This is something that could be like in your medic kit and view kind of like a reference piece. They put out a bridge guide for people coming from other medical professional backgrounds who want to learn how to apply those backgrounds to engaging in street medic work. And yeah, they put out a ton of really awesome stuff. And yeah, so that is kind of the basis of the guide. And instead of kind of like digging into depth of like all of these topics, I would encourage everyone to go out and read about it or to attend a training of some sort. It's going to be a much better way to learn about a lot of these topics. But, to kind of switch gears into in talking about backgrounds, on the Strangers in a Tangled Wilderness podcast, I always like to ask people kind of like, "What the story behind their story is?" or "How this piece came to be?" And that is a little less applicable in this context, but Bex, how did you get your start in learning about responding to medical emergencies of all kinds? Like what what was your catalyst or origin story, so to speak? Bex My first-aid origin story. Well, okay, first, let me just say the zine is really cool. It's a--in addition to all the things that Inmn described--it also has illustrations for almost everything. And so if you are into sort of like the visual learning, it's got illustrations. It's great. Everyone should check it out. It seems really useful. Keep it in your backpack, keep it under your bathroom counter for when you're like, "What am I supposed to do with this gnarly cut I got?" Okay, but my my villain origin...I mean, my first-aid origin story. Honestly, I'm like a very accident prone person. I would say that in general, I've got like pretty low body awareness. And it's not uncommon for me to like, get injured in odd situations. So, I've spent spent a lot of time taking trips to the urgent care and being like, "I think there might be something serious going on." And, specifically, there's like one incident that really launched me into wanting to learn more about first aid, which is that I got a pretty bad concussion from a bike accident. And I had no idea that I had a head injury. I had no idea that I should even be considering that I might have a head injury until like, the next morning when I was like collapsed in the shower and my roommates were like, lifting me up by my armpits and like patting me off and like, putting me in the car to like head out to the urgent care to like see what the fuck was wrong with me. And that experience was just like...was extremely scary and extremely eye opening to know that like there could be something like seriously wrong going on inside my body and I did not...I didn't know....I didn't know what to look for. I didn't know what was going on until it sort of like reached a more critical point. And that just made me really want to learn more. And I think that I probably went to a street medic training and also maybe like a 16 hour wilderness first-aid training in the year or two following that incident. Inmn Why did you go to a street medic training? Like, first, instead of like a WFR class or WFA class? Bex Yeah, and WFR stands for wilderness first responder. That's like an 80 hour training usually, and wilderness first aid is the WFA that Inmn just said and that's usually a 16 hour training. There's different orgs that offer those. Um, well, I went to a street medic training, because when I heard about it I thought it sounded cool and fun. And, because I was looking for a way to plug into some specific movement spaces, or like, demonstrations that were coming up that I was eager to participate in, but wasn't quite sure how to engage in. And this felt like a...I was like, "Oh, there's something I can do, like something I can offer, a skill set." And now I feel like my thinking on that has shifted, where I'm like, actually, every single person brings something. Like every person brings a skill set and that's being exactly who they are engaging in a protest space. But, at the time it felt like getting a street medic training was a really empowering sort of entry point of like, "Oh, I've got this sort of, like, motivating reason to show up and feel like I can be helpful or something." Inmn Yeah, yeah. Yeah, it's a great--I feel like it maybe this is less true now--but I feel like at--- really aging myself here--a while ago, I feel like it was a really good entry point into, like, getting involved with movements, like, in the same way that, you know, when I was a teenager I would go to Food Not Bombs. And that was a huge entry point into learning about different radical projects in my area was just going to Food Not Bombs. And so, like, I feel like street medic trainings similarly offer a very easy, low-barrier way for people to get involved in protests or like uprising movements. Or at least that's how they did in the past. I don't know if that's true anymore. Bex Yeah, and in general, I mean, I think that, like, we as human beings are like, very, sort of, like, motivated towards connection with others and like, relationship building, and, like community building and a sense of belonging. And I think that in radical movements that creating containers--whether it's things like a street medic training or Food Not Bombs or like, you know, whatever--it is finding places where people can know that, like, "Oh, I can show up here. People are going to be stoked that I'm there. They're gonna, like, be actively and enthusiastically, like, sharing their knowledge and skills and like, inviting me into the space feels really fucking good." And we need more models of that all around us. Inmn Yeah, yeah, absolutely. I mean, you know, that was one of the first ways that I got involved in that kind of stuff was like, I don't know, I went...I like was at a thing and I watched the police fuck some people up and I watched these, like, street medics like swoop in, and like, just, like, instantly have this like, response of like...it's like, I saw someone screaming because they'd been like pepper...they'd been maced in the face and there was suddenly this group of people who knew exactly what to do to help those people. And it was like...it like it was a very, like catalyzing experience for me. At least to like, see that and then be like, I want to help people like that. I want to like know what to do when my friends get hurt. Bex Yeah, totally. And I feel like doing a street medic training and getting involved in that world was a really catalyzing experience for me as well, where previously, when I would witness, you know, like, police brutalizing someone at a protest, I would be overwhelmed with this sense of helpless rage, where I'm, you know, you're like watching something terrible happening and there's nothing you can do or like, you feel like that in that moment. And one of the big things that I love about emergency medicine in general--whether it's street medicine or wilderness emergency medicine or what have you--is his emphasis on calm, like spreading calm, and bringing calm to a situation. And like, Yeah, we should all be fucking mad and energized, but we can like find a place of calm and purpose in our responses rather than feeling completely overwhelmed by hopelessness or rage. And I think that in general, like, when people have a sense of agency in a situation--whether it's a situation in their own personal life or in a protest scenario or what have you--if you feel like, there was something I could do, I could participate in some way, I had some agency here in how I chose to respond, we know that sense of agency reduces the sort of like, permanent traumatic mark that that makes on us. And how we recover psychologically from witnessing or experiencing those things has a lot to do with what we felt we were capable of in our response in that moment. And I think that, for me, having this skill set around first aid, just makes me feel more empowered and able to act and I think that is like, good for my brain. Inmn Yeah, yeah. So like, obviously, it's good for there to be people who know a lot about first aid or a lot about responding to emergencies, like people who have extensive training in doing that but why is it important for everyone to have a basic understanding of how to respond to emergencies? Like why, if we have this zine, if there's, like, you know, if there's just people running around who have 80 hours of training, like what is reading a zine about it going to do for me? Bex Yeah. I love this question. Because we...just because someone's running around with 80 hours of training or more or is a professional, doesn't mean that other people have to rely on that person. Like, we should not be recreating the hierarchies of the medical industrial complex within our movements or within our communities or within our personal lives. Like, the more that we can sort of like decentralize information, we're also decentralizing that power that people feel like they have to support themselves, to support the people around them. And like, yeah, it's freaking awesome to be able to call up someone who's an expert. Like, I use, different herbs. I'll take tinctures or use salves, but I don't actually know shit about herbalism. And it's really useful to be able to call up a buddy and be like, "Hey, this is what's going on, like, what would you recommend?" but I also want to be able to have my own little apothecary, and like, make my own little stuff that I do feel comfortable with. And, I don't want to have to rely on someone else for all of my interactions with that, and I think that sort of like general first aid is a similar thing. Like it's great to have people with more experience around, but we should all know how to clean a wound and recognize signs of infection, or like when to be worried about a head injury, or how to help someone out who's like gotten too hot or too cold, or get fucking tear gas off someone's face and mucous membranes. Inmn Yeah, yeah. And there's actually...there's a funny thing that I want to ask you about because I feel like I see it get...like it's something that is not covered in the basic first aid for emergency zine and something that I see get talked about less but I feel like is like wildly important and applicable to most people's lives. So like, you know, your experience of having a concussion and not realizing how dangerous it was, like, I think we can all relate. We've all like got...a lot of us have gotten into a bike accident and then been, like, "Oh, I'm fine, except I did hit my head, but I was wearing a helmet. So I'm probably fine." Bex All of us here have crashed our bikes, right? Inmn Or like, you know, hit your head on something like or had a friend who hit their head on something. And what are the important things to keep in mind when someone has hit their head and they're unsure about whether they have a concussion? Like, when is the...when does it go from "I'm okay," to, "I have to seek, like some kind of higher level of care for what's going on"? Bex Yeah, totally. Well, like, the basic thing that we're worried about with head injuries is swelling to the brain because there's just not much room inside the skull for the brain to swell at all. And right, like something that gets injured, like if I like, twist my ankle, that ankle is going to swell. There's plenty of room for it to do that. There's not room for the brain to swell up without like, creating some more serious problems. And so that's like, generally what we're worried about. And you can bump your head, you can bump your head pretty dang hard and not get a concussion, like not get a head injury. If you hit your head and you're like, "Oh, yeah, it hurts where I hit my head. And maybe I've got a little bit of a headache from that bonk." We're not worried about that. But if you hit your head, and you're like, "Oh, now I feel kind of dizzy. And I actually feel kind of nauseous, or I can't really remember that like moment of impact, or like my vision is affected, maybe I'm like seeing stars a little bit or a little bit of blurriness," then you might be looking at sort of a mild head injury and you just want to take that pretty seriously. You can go get checked out at a at a clinic, if you are able to access that resource. And in general, you just want to like monitor those symptoms and make sure it's not getting any worse. And rest. With head injuries we need cognitive rest as well as physical rest. So, there used to be all this stuff about like, "If someone gets a concussion, don't let them sleep. Wake them up every you know, 10 minutes with this, like secret passcode they have to remember," and like we do not do that anymore. Like if someone has a head injury, actually they like really need to rest. And like sleep is great. And we want to let people sleep like please. Inmn I feel like that was the unfortunate plot of like so many like 90s sitcoms was like, like kind of torturing someone into staying awake while they're concussed. Bex Yeah, but if you're experiencing that stuff, and you've had some kind of blow to the head, like definitely consider going to get checked out. Concussions are complex. They get worse, the more times that you've had one. You become more and more sensitive to concussions, even from like a minor head bump. And there are also...there's like a long recovery period from a concussion, like it can be like many, many months of recovery, so it helps to get checked out. And then if it's a serious head injury, you want to like get to, like get to a clinical setting, like whether that's the urgent care emergency room or like whatever, like you want to get there right away. If you're having things...if someone has a head injury and they are getting like...they're having like personality changes, like they're becoming really irritable, combative, they're like disoriented, they're having like a really bad headache, they're getting super sleepy or lethargic. If someone has a head injury and then has a seizure. If there's any bleeding from like, the nose or eyes or ears or like other fluid coming from the ears, this person needs to get to like a higher level of care as fast as possible. Inmn Yeah, yeah. And maybe you mentioned it and maybe you didn't, but is is vomiting also a strange sign? Bex Oh, yeah. Well, okay, with head injuries, everyone gets like one free vomit. And then if there's like more vomiting than that then we would consider that that might be like a serious head injury. I'm not sure exactly of like the physiology there of like why there's this vomiting, but there is...yeah, there can be like a lot of vomiting or even like projectile vomiting from from a serious head injury Inmn Yeah. Listeners, you might be noticing that I'm asking Bex a lot of like kind of leading questions. This is, this is partially because I have a fair amount like medical training as well, and--all of which is like horribly lapsed--like, I kind of got out of practicing as like a person who does medical stuff except like casually to myself and my friends a while ago. Bex We're both lapsed wilderness EMTs it turns out, Inmn yeah, yeah. Cool. Well, yeah, thank you, thank you so much for that little explanation. I feel like it is a...you know, obviously, if anyone is worried about something then they should, you know, go to urgent care or go to the emergency room. But I feel like there was a lot of, like, in between things were we're like, "I don't know." And like going to the ER or the urgent care casually is like, not something that people can, like, always afford to do. Bex Yeah, but we do want to pay...like, I would urge people to be very cautious with head injuries. One thing that we've learned from the great sport of American football is that head injuries are very serious and do get worse and repeated head injuries...like if your brain is just getting pummeled all the time that can add up to really serious cognitive, emotional, and like, even like personality impacts. And it's just not...it's not good. It's not good to hurt your brain. So, being like really careful, making sure that someone is getting rest, getting checked out if they're having these symptoms is great. Inmn Yeah, yeah. And yeah, again, listeners, like, you know, we are...this is not medical advice. This is... Bex This is not a medical training. Inmn This is not a medical training. But we are trying to kind of cover some basics for people to think about, but highly suggest if you want to learn more about these things to go out and attend more extensive trainings on how to assess these things. So Bex.... Bex Inmn... Inmn You have been involved in this world for quite a while now, right? Like the world of first aid and responding to emergencies. Bex Yeah. Inmn I was wondering if you wanted to kind of talk about like, just, like, kind of like, experiences or like stories that you might have of, responding to emergencies, providing first aid in like various contexts, like...yeah, do you have any kind of like, notably interesting things? This isn't a leading question? Bex I mean, I feel like, like running around as a street medic, you see all kinds of things, you know, a lot of like, flushing chemical weapons out of people's eyes, definitely have supported people with head injuries, sometimes from police munitions, and working with people who are like, "Oh, I'm bleeding from the scalp, but I don't want to go to the hospital." And then you're just like, "Okay, well, how about your friends that are with you, like, here's this list of things to watch out for, like, here's how we're going to take care of this person." or I feel like, like, notable moments for me have often been like, when I can, like, empower people to like, look after themselves, or like look after the people that they're with, and I can like, do what I can to support someone, but I'm not like therefore positioning myself as like, "And now I am the expert and I've like taken you over and I'm gonna like tell you what you have to do now," or whatever but. Definitely, like one really eye opening moment for me--and I talked about this more in the Live Like the World is Dying gunshot wound episode was like responding to someone with a gunshot wound at a protest. Which at the time, I think it was like 2016 or something, at the time. I was like, that was not what I was expecting to see at a protest. And it really threw me. I like didn't really feel prepared to deal with that sort of like extreme of an of an injury. And since then, now, I feel like the like gun violence in a protest setting is super common. And there have been many demonstrations or actions that I've been at where people have gotten shot. And, it's like a really, it's a really scary thing to witness. And it's also scary the way that it has become such a sort of, like, predictable part of like, the landscape of kind of like radical movements and demonstrations. And, one thing that I remember was like being at a demo and seeing someone get shot and then, you know, I'm there like trying to pull out my, like, pull out my, like trauma response stuff from my medic fanny pack. And before I even can, like, get those things out, there's like a bunch of street medics who are like supporting this person. And I'm like, "Hey, I think I like... it's possible that I'm like, recognizing some of those people from like a medic training that I helped to run a couple of months ago." And that moment, like, even in that moment, that was like extremely scary and traumatizing being like, "Oh, like the transferring of information and the like, sharing and like broadening of like this knowledge base is very much like changing the outcomes that people are having in really bad situations because there's all these people who know how to respond. And especially I think, like in 2020, like, everyone started like running around with like, a tourniquet strapped on their belt, you know, because we're just like, seeing so much gun violence in those spaces in a new way. And I think that like that, that is great. And that, like, if nothing else, like knowing how to respond to like, really major life threatening things is... and having the tools to be able to do so is awesome. Inmn Yeah. Yeah, yeah, it is really amazing to see that. It's funny, I have like, kind of a, like, personal story of where I was incredibly relieved that there were so many people who had training around, which...it's a vulnerable story in that, like, I don't love how I responded, but like, it was a good learning experience for me of like, I had been doing like street medic stuff for like a long time and I'd been doing...like I was a wilderness EMT at this point, and--but you know, I'd never worked as an EMT before--and I was at a thing and I watched someone get run over by a car. And spoiler alert is that this person was like, fucking miraculously fine. Like, literally nothing was wrong with this person. Like, which was incredible. But at the time, like, I was the closest person. And I, like I froze. And because I'd never witnessed something like that before and that's not what I was expecting to have to deal with and like...but, you know, I went over, and I started to try to assess what was going on and then like, three other people swooped in, all of whom had a lot more experience than I did, to which I was so grateful, because I was like, "Hell yeah, there's a more qualified person here to bottomline this situation, I'm just gonna, like help with creating a perimeter around this person so that we can make sure that they're okay." Bex Yeah, totally. Yeah, that sounds extremely intense. And I'm glad that...I'm glad that you were there. I'm glad that those other folks are there. And, you know, I guess like, in...like, as a street medic...or, like, I'm not into like, "Yeah, I hope I get to go out and like, see something gnarly so I get to, like, respond to it, so I can have some experience, like some personal experience of like, getting to do something." That is not what I'm in it for or like a mentality that I am at all interested in engaging with. But, like in that situation, if those other people hadn't shown up, like, yeah, you were overwhelmed, maybe scared. This like wasn't what you were expecting to see. But, you like, had your assessment tools and you like, had those skills, and if no one else had been there, you would have been a great person to have responded to the situation, even though you had that sense of relief of like, "Thank God, there's someone else here," or whatever. And I feel like moving from a place of like, "I just saw something happen to somebody or something happened to me and I have no idea what to do, like don't even know where to begin," or being like...like moving from that place to like, "Damn, this absolutely sucks. And I wish it wasn't happening, but like, I guess I could figure out how to deal with it." Like, that is actually like a really big difference. And I want to support people in moving in that direction, you know, even if it sucks to have to see shit like that. I don't know. Inmn Yeah, if I'm, if I'm going to a....if I'm going somewhere where I expect there to be like a higher probability of like someone being injured--whether that's to a demonstration or whether that's to a youth hardcore show where people really like to like throw elbows--I hope that I'm not going to see anyone get injured, like if I'm providing medical care, like, either as like, "I am here to provide medical care" or is like someone who's just there and like has a little first aid kit--because that is a smart thing for everyone to have--then like, I hope that I never have to use it. I hope that no one gets injured. That would be a better day for everyone. But, it is like part of the like ritual of being prepared that we like learn how to deal with these situations even in small ways. Which, brings me to my next question for you. What are...what are...if you had to give like a short little blurb to people about like, if people want to learn more about first aid in like a small way, say they've read this zine, like, what is the next step for people and what what situations should people like focus on whether they're like at a demonstration or it's just like, another piece of like--saying normal doesn't feel like the right phrase--but like, part of their normal life, you know? Bex Yeah, their everyday life. Um, there's a lot of different types of trainings that folks can seek out starting with, like CPR. A CPR, training is a great place to start. And now you can do, you can even like get CPR trained online and just like watch a bunch of videos. It's better to do like hands on practice, I think that's where we really like, can start building muscle memory around these skills. But, there's like CPR training. Places like the Red Cross offer a basic first aid training. And then there's also these like street medic trainings. So, if you have a street medic, group or collective in your area, like, seek out a 20 hour street medic training, or there are different organizations that offer Wilderness First Aid trainings that are, you know, definitely have some overlap with the street medic training in that both of these things are like you're in an environment where you can't just call 911 and expect that an ambulance is going to be able to like roll up in the next five minutes, either because you're like in the back country, or you're like behind the police line, or what have you. And then there's bigger trainings on the wilderness side that you can pursue like a Wilderness First Responder, Wilderness, EMT. A lot of counties, especially like rural counties that are having trouble staffing up their EMS, I know some folks who have been able to get an EMT training, like a three month EMT training, totally paid for by their county if they agreed to like, volunteer with the fire department for a year or something like that. So that's another way to get like a lot of training for free if you are willing to interface with the like, often shitty hierarchical structures that put you in the role of being like the sort of like, dehumanizing disembodied medic, but you can like bring to that, you know, you can try to like, bring a better, like, approach to that situation. But yeah, all kinds of things like that. And to go back to your point of like, being prepared for things every day and not just like when I'm like going out to a demo, but kind of like, yeah, what we do on the daily to like, prepare for different situations, I'll say that I keep a like a tourniquet and a trauma response kit in my car at all times, just like in a fanny pack strapped to the back of the headrest, in case I come across like a car accident while I'm just like cruising around. Or if, you know, like in today's fucking modern society like your like just as likely it feels like to respond to like gunshots when you're like like passing by a shopping mall or like outside of fucking school or something like this because there's like, there's just so many shootings. There's so much gun violence. There's so many like mass shooting situations that I think that like a Stop the Bleed training that different like organizations offer, even like that on its own is something that might be useful for folks that hopefully they'll never have to use but Inmn Yeah, yeah. I mean, that is that is what we hope. Yeah, I feel like personally, if I had to recommend like two lower barrier things that everyone should go out and do it is learning about CPR and a Stop the Bleed training because these are like two pretty, like, easy to access trainings that can make huge differences in whether somebody survives an injury. Bex Absolutely. I'll also say that like, I feel like I've like talked a fair amount of smack, as is appropriate, on like, the medical industrial complex and like the shitty hierarchies within sort of like clinical emergency medicine or like hospital settings. Those are these like, really like dehumanizing, disembodied environments that really take away patient agency in a lot of cases. But, within those systems, there are a lot of like, really, like, deeply radical badass, like incredible people working within those systems. And if you are interested in like getting involved with a medical practice professionally, or if you are already in that world, you're a med tech, or a nurse or a doctor or, you know, whatever, a paramedic, and you want to find other radical people who are interested in approaching that work together, there are people who are doing that. There's actually--by the time this airs, it probably will have already happened--but there's a really cool convergence happening on the east coast this month in May, that's the Health Autonomy Convergence that's for people who are working within the medical system but are coming at it from a anarchist, anti authoritarian, abolitionist perspective. And finding networks like that, like ways to decentralize our knowledge and skills and like, connect with other like radical folks who are interested in this is just so exciting to me. It's very cool. Inmn Yeah, yeah. I just want to say that, like, a real good reason for everyone to learn about first aid and for everyone to learn these basics is that, one, as we're seeing things change in like how police violence or like violence from other sources of fascism occurs, like, we can't even rely on these kind of like networks as much for like, every situation and like, it is helpful for everyone to have some understanding of what to do in an emergency. One, because it like, takes pressure off of those other groups and also because like, it means that like, you know, the best resource that we have are people and so like another person to know how to do this thing or to like, not need as much like care from someone is a great thing. Like, we yeah, we should all be learning basics of these skills because it makes everyone's lives easier. Bex Yeah, and supporting each other in it. Like if you...like, the number one tool that a street medic has in their kit is a buddy. You always go with a buddy. You don't go alone because it's easier to keep a cool head and have good decision making, and stay sort of like oriented and situationally aware and like know what's happening if you are running with another person, and you both have like, even if you have different levels of experience or training, like you've got another person there to help navigate that situation with. And we can can offer one another like so much strength and resilience just by like being present and like tuned in to the same stuff together. One time my medic buddy that I would always run with was like out of town and there was like something happening in the city where I lived and I was like, "I'll just go by myself. It's like no big deal. Like I don't need a buddy. I'm sure it'll be fine." And I was like, such a huge mistake. It ended up being like a fairly like traumatizing experience for me where I was like, "Oh, wait, actually like being in this alone and being like, 'I'm trying to like respond and be prepared,' and like I don't have someone with me who's going through that with me and like tuning into this with me," was...I wouldn't do it again. Inmn Yeah, yeah. Bex So, find a pal. Find a pal who's interested in first aid and fucking skill up together. It's like extremely fun. And you can practice your patient assessment on each other. It's great. Inmn Yeah, yeah, learning is fun. And, you know, the more that we learn these skills now, the less overwhelming they will be, if we are ever faced with an emergency that we have to deal with. Like, yeah, learn it now so it's less stressful in the moment. Bex Yeah, and like learn from sources that are reliable. Like the materials that Riot Medicine has available, like this zine is super tight. I haven't looked through all of their other materials, like in depth, but it's like very legit, or like going to a street medic training, or another training so that you know that your skills that you're building are coming from some sort of reputable source and you don't end up as like, the wacky chaos medic that everyone dreads who's like, running around in like head-to-toe camo with gallons of milk swinging from their belt. And, you know, like, don't be the chaos medic. Like, learn some real skills that are like based in...that are scientifically based and like vetted and bring calm to the situation. Inmn Yeah, yeah. Speaking of calm... [interrupted] Bex Take your chaos elsewhere. Your chaos has a place and it is not in medicking. Inmn Speaking of calm. So, real quick, we have this last little segment since this is the Strangers podcast, even if you're hearing it on the Live like the World is Dying feed. We have a quick word of the month where this is a word that I learn a little bit about the origins of and then asked people if they know anything about it. And I've maybe given you a clue. But, Bex, do you know anything...Do you know the word anemone? Bex Like a sea anemone. Inmn Yeah, like I sea anemone. But, there are other kinds of anemones as well. Bex Like the sea anemone of my enemy is my friend-enenomy? Inmn Yeah, that's that's absolutely the origin. You just guessed it. Bex Tell me more. Inmn Do you have any guesses as to like what the word anemone means? Or, where where it comes from? Bex Anemone, anemone? No, I do not know. But it really sounds like enemy. Inmn It does. It does. So, anemone. So there's sea anemone, but then there's also like, there's a plant that's called anemone. And interestingly, this plant is used to...it's used for a lot of different things medicinally and, how I'm familiar with it is that it was...someone recommended it to me for like panic attacks. And in very low doses. Very, very low doses. This is a... Bex Consult an herbalist. Inmn This is a...this can be a dangerous plant. So, flowering plant anemone comes directly from Latin "anemone," and then from the Greek "anemone," which comes from two little pieces. There's "anemos" and a, you know, "feminine" suffix. So, "anemos" means wind. And so anemone literally means "wind flower" or "daughter of the wind." And some people think that...or like, you know, one one attribution to that name is anemone blooms only during a storm. And it's like...interestingly, its petals are attached to seed pods. And so when the wind blows, the flower opens, and it rips it apart. And the petals are like each attached to a little seed pod. So that is like...the flower is like destroyed and propagates by getting caught in the wind. But interestingly--and this is this is where I think it gets really fun and interesting--is there's a cognate in Latin "anima" or shortened to "ane" which means to breathe. And anemone, as we just learned, is a plant that you can take when having a panic attack to help you breathe. Bex Dang. That is very cool. And that's like a very beautiful image. You have like, that description of the flower being like ripped apart in a storm, but like that propagating, and I feel like that really resonates with me in terms of like, the things that we face that like feel like this huge destructive force, whether that's like things happening like emotionally or psychologically or also like the literal violence that people witness and experience. And like, how can you like harness that, like, violence or destruction and like see where they're like seeds of beautiful things that will like, be planted or like can grow from that, even if like the destruction itself is like the loss of something beautiful, it doesn't mean it's the end of beautiful things coming. Inmn Yeah. And like first aid, we can bloom and show and spread, unfortunately, sometimes through turbulent times. And this ended up being a very appropriate word that I kind of picked at random to be part of this episode. So, I know you'd have to run, but real quick, Is there anywhere on the internet that people can find you that you would like to be found? And the answer can be "No." Bex No, there's nowhere to find me on the internet. But, you should check out Riot Medicine, which I legitimately am like definitely not a part of or have anything to do with, but it is very cool. And Oh, one other thing I'll just quickly say here for folks who have listened to the gunshot wound episode of Live Like the World is Dying, I would like to make a little amendment. When I recorded that episode, I had some outdated information about tourniquets. And in that episode, I described tourniquets as really a tool of last resort. And what we actually know is that tourniquets are a really safe intervention to use. You can, if applied correctly and if it is a sort of like legitimate tourniquet like the CAT gen 7, the combat application tourniquet, these can safely be left on for a really long time. There have been recorded incidents from our long history of global capitalist imperialist warfare. We've learned a lot about combat medicine. And there have been incidences of like a tourniquet staying on for up to 48 hours without that limb being compromised. Do not be afraid to use a tourniquet. Check out that episode if you want more information about specifically Stop the Bleed stuff. But, just take this little amendment to the tourniquet section. Inmn Great. Thank you so much Bex for coming on the podcast. Bex Thanks for having me. Inmn Yeah, stay well. Bex Bye. Inmn Thanks so much for listening. If you enjoyed this podcast, please go take a first aid training, and then tell us about it. But also tell people about the podcast. You can support this podcast by telling people about it. You can support this podcast by talking about it on social media, rating and reviewing and doing whatever the algorithm calls for. Feed it like hungry god. But, if you would like to support us in other sillier ways that don't involve feeding a nameless entity then you can check us out on Patreon at patreon.com/strangersinatangledwilderness. Our Patreon helps pay for things like transcriptions or our lovely audio editor Bursts, as well as going to support our publisher, Strangers in a Tangled Wilderness. Strangers in a Tangled Wilderness is the publisher of this podcast and a few other podcasts including our monthly feature podcast of anarchistic literature, Strangers and a Tangled Wilderness, which comes out monthly, as well as the Anarcho Geek Power Hour, which is a great podcast for people who love movies and hate cops. And just to give you an idea of some other stuff that Strangers in a Tangled Wilderness is up to, we are also getting ready to put out a new book To the Ghosts Who are Still Living by Ami Weintraub. The stories of our ancestors call to us from across time asking to be remembered. In retelling our ancestors experiences of love, tradition, loss and sorrow we not only honor their lives, but we come to understand our own. The trees whisper to the ones who will listen, "Come home." To the Ghosts Who are Still Living is a collection of essays by Ami Weintraub, coming out August, 2023 through Strangers in a Tangled Wilderness. The preorder starts July 1st. And we would like to shout out a few of our patrons in particular. Thank you Princess Miranda, BenBen, Anonymous, Funder, Jans, Oxalis, Janice & O'dell, Paige, Aly, Paparouna, Milica, Boise Mutual Aid, Theo, Hunter, Shawn, S. J., Paige, Mikki, Nicole, David, Dana, Chelsea, Kat J., Staro, Jenipher, Eleanor, Kirk, Sam, Chris, Michaiah, and Hoss the Dog. We seriously couldn't do this without y'all. And I hope everyone out there is doing as well as they can with everything that's happening and we'll talk to you soon. Find out more at https://live-like-the-world-is-dying.pinecast.co

Summary This time on Live Like the World is Dying, we're talking about something crucial to surviving the apocalypse: playing games with your friends. And Killing God Kings. That's right, we have an actual play recording of us playing Penumbra city, the TTRPG that we've been working on over at Strangers for…a very long time. We are sharing this session of us playing the game in order to get you excited about our KICKSTARTER for the game, which is currently live. Right now! Unless it's no longer June 2023. So, before you listen to this recording go to www.kickstarter.com/projects/penumbra-city/penumbra-city Join a Doggirl, an Occultust, a Rat King, and a Patchworker as they investigate a string of disappearances including someone's missing date.  Find your friends. Live like the God King is dying. We will have a normal Live Like the World is Dying episode out this week as well. Guest Info Margaret Killjoy: World Designer. On Twitter @magpiekilljoy or IG @MargaretKilljoy Jamie Loftus: Host of Ghost Church. On Twitter @JamieLoftusHELP of IG @JamieChristSuperstar Bea Flowers: The Voice of Penumbra City. On IG @Crimebrulee Robin Savage: Game Ilustrator on IG @Missrobinsavage Inmn Neruin: Game Designer on IG @shadowtail.artificery Publisher This podcast is published by Strangers In A Tangled Wilderness. We can be found at www.tangledwilderness.org or on Twitter @tangledwild. You can support this show by subscribing to our Patreon at https://www.patreon.com/strangersinatangledwilderness Our Kickstarter for Penumbra City can be found here: https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/penumbra-city/penumbra-city Host The Host is Inmn Neruin. You can find them on instagram @shadowtail.artificery Find out more at https://live-like-the-world-is-dying.pinecast.co

DeSantis flew too close to the sun, Kellyanne tried out her take on denialism, and Musk — the man who once talked of colonizing Mars — showed in the space of one week how much of a nasty, thin-skinned putz he is. Will Saletan is back with Charlie Sykes for Charlie and Will Monday. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

DeSantis flew too close to the sun, Kellyanne tried out her take on denialism, and Musk — the man who once talked of colonizing Mars — showed in the space of one week how much of a nasty, thin-skinned putz he is. Will Saletan is back with Charlie Sykes for Charlie and Will Monday. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices