Podcasts about nc2

The Nutanix Cloud Clusters (NC2) platform is a cost-effective solution for managing virtualized workloads in the cloud. It also provides the quickest way to move to the cloud without the need to refactor applications. NC2 can help with applications that run in virtual machines (VMs), but it can help equally well with containerized apps running in Kubernetes, thanks to the Nutanix Kubernetes Platform (NKP) solution, which runs both on-premises and on NC2. Blog: https://www.nutanix.com/blog/why-you-should-run-nkp-on-nutanix-cloud-clustersHost: Phil Sellers, Practice Director for Modern Datacenter, XenTegraCo-Host: Andy Greene, Solutions Architect, XenTegraCo-Host: Chris Calhoun, Solutions Architect, XenTegraCo-Host: Ben Rogers, Enterprise Sales Engineer, Nutanix

Position Exercise: The audio will tell you where each of the pieces on the board are and whose turn it is. Find the best move! To learn more about Don't Move Until You See It and get the free 5-day Conceptualizing Chess Series, head over to https://dontmoveuntilyousee.it/conceptualization FEN for today's exercise: 1r1r3k/2nbbppp/1p1pp3/p7/1nPNPP2/1P2Q1P1/4N1BP/R6K b - - 0 1 And the answer is... 1... e5 2. Nf5 Bxf5 3. exf5 Nc2 *

En este episodio, exploramos las arquitecturas híbridas y cómo optimizan la gestión de recursos entre entornos on-prem y la nube. Junto a Andrés Rey, especialista en cloud híbrida de Nutanix, profundizamos en los beneficios y desafíos de mover cargas de trabajo, con especial énfasis en la automatización y la solución NC2 en AWS. Aunque muchas veces decimos "migrar" en lugar de "mover", el episodio cubre cómo abordar la complejidad y las mejores estrategias para implementar entornos híbridos.Tabla de Contenidos01:00 Conociendo a Andrés Rey01:22 Qué son las Arquitecturas Híbridas03:14 Beneficios de las arquitecturas híbridas04:53 Principales desafíos de las arquitecturas híbridas10:30 El objetivo: Simplificar y estandarizar12:09 Problemas comunes al mover cargas de trabajo14:30 El dilema: ¿Mover una app pequeña o crítica?17:07 Historias de terror18:33 La clave: La flexibilidad de decidir26:50 Estrategias recomendadas para la migración30:50 Automatización en arquitecturas híbridas34:02 NC2 en AWS: ¿Qué es y cómo funciona?38:14 Casos especiales: Mover cargas de x86 a Arm41:07 Gestión de costes en entornos híbridos43:15 Disaster Recovery (DR) en arquitecturas híbridas45:30 ¿Cuándo no es ideal un entorno híbrido?46:15 Requerimientos y mezcla de instancias y almacenamiento49:47 El futuro de las arquitecturas híbridas52:05 La gran pregunta: ¿En qué nube es más fácil desplegar?54:20 Recomendaciones finalesEventos:AWS Cloud Experience Day Lisboa, Oct. 16:  https://aws.amazon.com/pt/events/cloud-days/portugal/AWS Community Day Spain, Oct. 19, Gijón: https://2024.awscommunity.es/enAWS re:Invent, Dec. 2-6: https://reinvent.awsevents.com/Redes sociales del invitado:LinkedIN: https://www.linkedin.com/in/andresreymacias/Twitter: https://x.com/AndresReyMacias

June 26, 2024 Rockingham County Board Of Education MeetingAGENDA1. Call to Order1.01 Roll Call2. Announcements2.01 The next Board Meeting is scheduled for Monday, July 8, 2024. The meeting begins at 6:00 p.m. at Central Administrative Offices located at 511 Harrington Highway, Eden, NC2.02 Access the latest agendas from the Rockingham County Board of Education by visiting www.rock.k12.nc.us/board-of-education and clicking on “Board Meeting Agendas”.3. Approval of Agenda3.01 Approval of Agenda4. Action Items4.01 Approval - Budget Amendments - Ms. Annie Ellis4.02 Approval - Workers' Compensation Insurance Renewal with NC School Boards Trust - Ms. Annie Ellis4.03 Approval - Additional Budget Request To The County Commissioners - Dr. Stover and Ms. Annie Ellis5. Reports/Discussion Items5.01 Presentation of Goals for the Joint Facilities Committee - RCS Joint Facilities Committee Members6. Closed Session7. Open Session7.01 Personnel Report - Approval of Personnel Actions8. Adjournment8.01 Motion to adjourn###

Becky and Diana set out to find ghosts nestled in the nooks and crannies of the Appalachian mountains--and they find them! Listen to the experiences they had in the following locations:1. The Broad River Inn in Chimney Rock, NC2. The Nickerson Snead House in Glade Spring, VA3. The Historic Scott County Jail in Huntsville, TN4. Historic Rugby, TN5. The Exchange Place in Kingsport, TN6. The Deery Inn in Blountville, TNVisit homespunhaints.com for more show notes and detailed information.Tired of websites that have been Frankensteined together using subpar body parts? Check out Becky and Diana's digital media and web design company, The Concept Spot, and let's make some digital spookiness together! theconceptspot.comSupport the Show.

January 8, 2024 Rockingham County Board Of Education MeetingAGENDA1. Call to Order1.01 Roll Call2. Announcements2.01 There is a Work Session scheduled for Monday, January 22, 2024. The meeting begins at 12:00 p.m. at McMichael High School Media Center, located at 6845 Hwy. 135, Mayodan, NC2.02 The next Board Meeting is scheduled for Monday, February 12, 2024. The meeting begins at 6:00 p.m. at Central Administrative Offices located at 511 Harrington Highway, Eden, NC2.03 Board Committees For 20243. Moment of Prayer3.01 Pastor Chris Burns from Draper Pentecostal Holiness Church, Eden, NC4. Pledge of Allegiance / Agenda Approval / Recognitions4.01 Pledge of Allegiance4.02 Approval of Agenda4.03 Recognition - National Board Candidates - Dr. Stover and Ms. Angela Martin4.04 Recognition of Schools For Academic Growth - Dr. Stover4.05 Recognition of Reidsville High School 2023 2A Football Championship5. Public Comments / Board Comments5.01 Public Comments - At this time the board will hear public comments5.02 Board Comments6. Consent Agenda6.01 Consent Approval - Gifts, Grants and Donations - Ms. Annie Ellis6.02 Consent Approval - Head Start Program Monthly Budget Update - Ms. Annie Ellis6.03 Consent Approval - Adoption of Board Policies - Dr. Cindy Corcoran6.04 Consent Approval - Open Session Board Minutes: December 11, 2023 - Regular Board Meeting6.05 Consent Approval - Board Member Training Credit For Carolina Liberty Conference 20247. Action Items7.01 Approval - ELA Adoption - Dr. Charles Perkins7.02 Approval - First Reading (2024-2025 RCS Calendars): RCS Traditional - Dr. Charles Perkins8. Reports / Discussion Items8.01 Superintendent's Report8.02 Board Chair Announcements9. Closed Session10. Open Session10.01 Personnel Report - Approval of Personnel Actions11. Adjournment11.01 Motion to adjourn###

December 11, 2023 Rockingham County Board Of Education MeetingAGENDA1. Call to Order1.01 Roll Call2. Announcements2.01 There is no work session scheduled in December2.02 The next Board Meeting is scheduled for Monday, January 08, 2024. The meeting begins at 6:00 p.m. at Central Administrative Offices located at 511 Harrington Highway, Eden, NC2.03 There is a Work Session scheduled for Monday, January 22, 2024. The meeting begins at 12:00 p.m. at McMichael High School Media Center, located at 6845 Hwy. 135, Mayodan, NC3. Moment of Prayer3.01 Pastor Tommy Albertson from Providence Baptist Church, Stoneville, NC4. Pledge of Allegiance / Approval of Agenda / Board Reorganization4.01 Pledge of Allegiance4.02 Approval of Agenda4.03 Board Reorganization - Election of Board Chair - Dr. Stover4.04 Board Reorganization - Election of Board Vice Chair5. Recognitions / Performance / Public Comments / Board Comments5.01 Recognition - Ms. Kimberly McMichael - Three-Year Board Chair Term - Dr. Stover5.02 Recognition - Superintendent's Award For Academic Excellence - Dr. Stover5.03 Recognition - Mr. Nathaniel Hines - For Being Selected as a Member of the National Band Directors Marching Band - Dr. Stover5.04 Morehead High School Band Performance - Mr. Hines5.05 Public Comments - At this time the board will hear public comments5.06 Board Comments6. Consent Agenda6.01 Consent Approval - Gifts, Grants and Donations - Ms. Annie Ellis6.02 Consent Approval - Head Start Program Monthly Budget Update - Ms. Annie Ellis6.03 Consent Agenda - Budget Amendments - Ms. Annie Ellis6.04 Consent Approval - Board Policies for Adoption - Dr. Cindy Corcoran6.05 Consent Approval - Meeting Minutes for Board Approval - Open Session Special Called Board Minutes November 20, 2023 and Open Session Board Minutes for November 20, 2023 as presented.7. Action Items7.01 Approval - Remote Instruction Day for ACT Administration (High Schools Only) February 27, 2024 - Dr. Charles Perkins and Mr. Jason Hyler7.02 Approval - School Capital Needs Projects - Ms. Erselle Young7.03 Approval - Wentworth Fire Department's Dry Hydrant - Ms. Erselle Young8. Reports / Discussion Items8.01 Performance Standards Training - Dr. Cindy Corcoran and Ms. Rhonda Jumper8.02 ELA Curriculum Adoption - Dr. Charles Perkins8.03 Finance Update On New LINQ System - Ms. Annie Ellis8.04 Committee Reports8.05 Superintendent's Report - Dr. Stover8.06 Board Chair Announcements9. Closed Session10. Open Session10.01 Personnel Report - Approval of Personnel Actions11. Adjournment11.01 Motion to adjourn###

October 9, 2023 Rockingham County Board Of Education MeetingAGENDA1. Call to Order1.01 Roll Call2. Announcements2.01 The work session is scheduled for Monday, October 23, 2023, beginning at 12:00 noon at Lincoln Elementary School Media Center, located at 2660 Oregon Hill Road, Ruffin, NC2.02 The next Board Meeting is scheduled for Monday, November 20, 2023. The meeting begins at 6:00 p.m. at Central Administrative Offices located at 511 Harrington Highway, Eden, NC3. Moment of Prayer3.01 Pastor Dr. David Bishop from First Baptist Church, Eden, North Carolina4. Pledge of Allegiance / Agenda Approval / Recognitions4.01 Pledge of Allegiance4.02 Approval of Agenda4.03 Recognitions: DPI Outstanding Math Teacher: Robin Hayden from Western Rockingham Middle School5. Public Comments / Board Comments5.01 Public Comments - At this time the board will hear public comments5.02 Board Comments6. Consent Agenda6.01 Consent Approval - Gifts, Grants and Donations - Ms. Annie Ellis6.02 Consent Approval - Head Start Program Monthly Budget Update - Ms. Annie Ellis6.03 Consent Approval - Personal Pizza Product Bid - Dr. Leslie Coleman-Cassell6.04 Consent Approval - Meeting Minutes for Board Approval - Open Session Board Minutes September 11, 2023 and Open Session Work Session Minutes for September 25, 2023 as presented.7. Action Items7.01 Approval - School Improvement Plan (SIP) for Low-Performing Schools: Central, Dillard, Leaksville-Spray, Monroeton, South End, Williamsburg, Holmes, Reidsville Middle and Reidsville High - Dr. Charles Perkins8. Reports8.01 2023-2024 Annual Budget Resolution - Ms. Annie Ellis8.02 Emergency Response Plans and Initiatives - Mr. Sean Gladieux8.03 Superintendent's Report - Dr. John Stover8.04 Board Chair Announcements - Ms. Kimberly McMichael9. Closed Session10. Open Session10.01 Personnel Report - Approval of Personnel Actions11. Adjournment11.01 Motion to adjourn###

Has any automotive facelift ever made a car better than its original design? This episode of the Carmudgeon show is sponsored by Lucid Motors, who has special lease and finance offers on available 2023 models of the Lucid Air Touring and Grand Touring. Visit lucidmotors.com for offer details. What Carmudgeon episode would complete without a discussion of Bruno Sacco's Mercedes masterpieces, including the W201, W124, W140, and R129? Then, there's the Ferrari lineage: 246 Dino to 308 GTB to 328 GTB to 348 tb to F355. And perhaps the most successful facelift ever, the Bangle-Butt BMW E65/E66 7-series — which was vastly more successful in showrooms after BMW"s "LCI," or "Life Cycle Impulse," BMW-speak for a facelift. There's the Mk1 Volkswagen Golf, with the Clipper Kit Cabriolet and the Citi versions, the BMW E30, the Jaguar Series III to XJ40 to X300 to X308. And what if all the Radwood-era cars only got prettier because of relaxed and harmonized bumper standards, like the W116 Mercedes S-Class did when it was replaced with the W126. Discussed is also the Lamborghini Countach, Renault R5 Turbo, Lancia Integrale and Evo. And of course the Ferrari Testarossa Monospecchio, turned into the Testarossa, the 512TR, and ultimately 512M. How about BMW's prime era of the E38 and E39 and E46? The original Chevrolet Cavalier? The ovoid Taurus? Or just the Miata NC Miata, in NC1, NC2, and NC3 revisions? It's all an interesting discussion and a fun brain-dump from two curmudgeonly car experts, one of whom probably needs a facelift himself soon. === The Carmudgeon Show is part of the Hagerty Podcast Network. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

If you haven't picked up on the trend yet, let me just reinforce that Citrix is working overtime in 2023 to help you go all-in on your hybrid multi-cloud strategy. As we announced earlier this year, we're significantly investing in features and solutions that provide you with the choice and flexibility to develop your environment how you want it, where you want it, and to integrate with solutions you want.To that end, we know that many of you are leveraging or considering leveraging Nutanix Cloud Clusters (NC2) hybrid multi-cloud software to simplify IT operations, move to the cloud faster, and lower your on-premises cost of operations. We are excited to announce official support for running Citrix DaaS and Citrix Virtual Apps and Desktops on Nutanix Cloud Clusters on Azure.The Citrix plugin for NC2 on Azure is available today for early access, and is currently compatible with Citrix Machine Creation Services (MCS). Compatibility with Citrix Provisioning Services (PVS) is expected prior to general availability later this year.While Nutanix NC2 on Azure was previously a Citrix-Ready validated solution, by providing official Citrix support, we're ensuring customers can move forward with their hybrid multi-cloud deployment plans, and be confident that they'll have a great support experience if they run into any issues along the way.Azure support for NC2 comes as a significant extension to previously announced support for Nutanix Cloud Clusters on AWS – a capability shown to help you burst 2,000 Citrix Desktops to AWS in under two hours as opposed to days or weeks!Host: Bill SuttonCo-host: Geremy MeyersCo-host: Todd Smith

May 8, 2023 Rockingham County Board Of Education MeetingAGENDA1. Call to Order1.01 Roll Call2. Announcements2.01 The Work Session is scheduled at 12:00 noon for Monday, May 22, 2023 at Rockingham County High School Media Center located at 180 High School Road, Reidsville, NC.2.02 The next Board Meeting is scheduled for Monday, June 12, 2023 at 6:00 p.m. at Central Administrative Offices at 511 Harrington Highway, Eden, NC2.03 The 2023 Graduation Ceremony for RCS Early College is scheduled for Thursday, May 18th 2023 at 6:00 p.m. in Keys Gymnasium/RCC Campus2.04 The RCS 2023 Employee Retirement Banquet is scheduled to be held Tuesday, May 23, 2023 at the Wright Memorial Event Center located at 184 Slaydon Road, Eden. The banquet begins at 6:00 p.m.3. Moment of Prayer3.01 Pastor Kevin Dunovant from First Wesleyan Church, Eden, NC4. Pledge of Allegiance / Agenda Approval / Recognitions4.01 Pledge of Allegiance - William Attaway4.02 Approval of Agenda4.03 CTE Recognitions - Dr. Charles Perkins and Ms. Nina Walls4.04 Recognition of Superintendent's Art Award Winners for Middle and High School - Dr. Perkins4.05 Recognition of Governor's School Participant for 2023 - Ms. Kimberly McMichael5. Public Comments / Board Comments5.01 Public Comments - At this time the board will hear public comments5.02 Board Comments6. Consent Agenda6.01 Consent Approval - Gifts, Grants and Donations - Ms. Annie Ellis6.02 Consent Approval - Head Start Program Monthly Budget Update - Ms. Annie Ellis6.03 Consent Approval - Budget Amendments - Ms. Annie Ellis6.04 Consent Approval - Renewal of Video Agreement for 2023-2024 with Roy Sawyers (D.B.A. RCENO)6.05 Consent Approval - Adoption of Board Policy 2020 - Dr. Cindy Corcoran6.06 Consent Approval - Adoption of Board Policy 6415 (First Reading) - Dr. Cindy Corcoran6.07 Consent Approval - Partnerships/Contracts with Rockingham County Exceptional Children's Department - Dr. Pam Watkins7. Reports/Discussion Items7.01 Superintendent's Report - Dr. Stover7.02 Board Chair Announcements - Ms. Kimberly McMichael7.03 Planning For Future Facility Needs And Growth - Dr. Stover8. Closed Session9. Open Session9.01 Personnel Report - Approval of Personnel Actions9.02 Probationary Teachers 2023-20249.03 Administrator Contracts10. Adjournment###

1. Power substation attack leaves Moore County, NC2. Moore County drag show goes on despite power outages3. Supreme Court weighs 'most important case' on democracy4. New Colorado coach Deion Sanders4. Tampa police chef is out #podcast #commentary #recap #fyp #northcarolina #news #currentnews #newstatus

Nutanix launches the most significant update yet to its Nutanix Cloud Clusters™ (NC2) hybrid cloud software, now enabling organizations to run the Nutanix Cloud Platform™ software on the Microsoft Azure® cloud service. With support for both the AWS and Azure clouds, NC2 is a true hybrid multicloud platform. It provides easy access to Azure services from customer VNets running enterprise applications. There's a simple migration path for applications without modification, and expanded license portability with a consumption model choice.Organizations are increasingly investing in the public cloud to solve business and IT challenges for improved operational flexibility, agility and cost-efficiency. According to 1,700 IT decision makers polled for the 2022 Enterprise Cloud Index report, 83% agree that hybrid multicloud is the ideal operating model.Host: Andy WhitesideCo-Host: Harvey GreenCo-Host: Philip SellersCo-Host: Jirah CoxCo-Host: Ben Rogers

Nutanix launches the most significant update yet to its Nutanix Cloud Clusters™ (NC2) hybrid cloud software, now enabling organizations to run the Nutanix Cloud Platform™ software on the Microsoft Azure® cloud service. With support for both the AWS and Azure clouds, NC2 is a true hybrid multicloud platform. It provides easy access to Azure services from customer VNets running enterprise applications. There's a simple migration path for applications without modification, and expanded license portability with a consumption model choice.Organizations are increasingly investing in the public cloud to solve business and IT challenges for improved operational flexibility, agility and cost-efficiency. According to 1,700 IT decision makers polled for the 2022 Enterprise Cloud Index report, 83% agree that hybrid multicloud is the ideal operating model.Host: Andy WhitesideCo-Host: Harvey GreenCo-Host: Philip SellersCo-Host: Jirah CoxCo-Host: Ben Rogers

Subscribe and Listen to the audio version read by the author while drinks a coffee!Chapter TenTo the little bobbin standing in the morning mist with the golden sunshine suddenly blocked by the gloom of the blue shadows and banks of surrounding fog, an impossibly tall wizard stood there at the crossroads musing his long-stemmed pipe.And inquiring about his circumstances.Whereas in times past Tappert had considered the wizard mildly boorish, even sometimes annoying when the elven sorcerer straight from the Emerald Council at Indolién paid unannounced visits to old Abbey Hill and the lands of SaltBlocke Farm beneath the spreading oak the district had known as the Old Man for all Tappert's days, right now… well… it was downright inconvenient[NC1]  and quite a bother what with a stranger, a man of the woods and mountains, dying no less in the guest cottage.So there was that.And there was also that business his crazed old uncle had whispered to him on Whistle Eve in those last years and would say no more on the subject.That beyond pearls of great price, Malrond was never to be trusted with the secrets of the underhall.And if that wasn't enough, then there was the dying stranger telling little Tappert MaCrow to hide the worn out gunna sack, which is what bobbin, or Littles if you prefer, called rucks sacks, or packs. Your choice. But to hide his travel worn gunna sack in one of the most secret recesses of the underhall of SaltBlocke. And if that wasn't enough… this secret hidey hole his uncle had set aside, was largely unknown to Tappert before its revelation by the stranger.Then again…There were all kinds of undiscovered clever places down there in the halls below the main hall of Saltblocke Hall. And Tappert had a mind that he knew a very great many of them even if he couldn't quite gain access to them just yet with whatever particular key or puzzle gained entry to them.And then of course… there was just downright burglary and the picking of locks which any good bobbin knew how to do, not because they were low thieves of any sort, but that keys were bothersome, and locks were easy to pick, and hard to come by[NC2]  if one needed replacing.So, it was a handy skill known by one and all.Most bobbin kept a pick or two handy anyway as much as they did a fried egg biscuit or a cheese, ham, and pickle press in one of their many pockets.A “presser” is what they called a cheese, ham, and pickle sandwich. Made with two thin slices of country bread, a strip of mustard, and then the red country chestnut ham and a nice pokey cheese which is what we would have called cheese with holes in it and which Littles, in their practical experience just called Pokey Cheese. The reason all this assemblage was called “a Presser” is because this particular sandwich was best when kept in the back pocket of a bobbin out walking or working, and therefore sat on frequently during breaks.All agreed that the pressing made the Presser taste better, especially if the pokey cheese was sharp, the pickle sour, and the mustard mild[NC3] .But those were thoughts for other fine days and not this mess of a morning as far as Tappert MaCrow was concerned.“And what would you be doing out this fine too-early morning, young Tappert?” asked the wizard with none of his usual joy and enthusiasm which Tappert often thought seemed… feigned or even “ginned up” as some had whispered before.“Don't get the feelin' that one's up and up,” as Miss would have put it, busy about the kitchens back at Saltblocke.And yes, kitchens, plural. There are fifteen between the old abbey grounds, the underhall, and the secret undercellars, though most of those are little more than a pantry, a cutting board, a good knife, and a set of plates to set forth a proper snacking when one's busy rotating the ports or wines down there in the lonely and quiet, yet very cozy halls.And sometimes you hear things down there. Things that bother you, and as every bobbin knows, a little snack banishes a bothersome ghost or two.“Aren't you out a little bit early, or late, for your normal long walks through the night, Tappert MaCrow?”Now Tappert knew that some knew of his late-night walks, often taking him far out near the Barrow Hills where he would only get within sighting distance and never close enough to see the old and ancient stone doors set long ago, sometimes cracked and open, for fear of seeing an actual barrow wight out and about haunting on a late eve.But then again, Tappert would often ask himself when he stood there for long hours watching the soft rolling hills under the late evening moon, the mist and shadows making it seem as though something was indeed out there and moving among the old and ancient stones, “Why are you out here then, Tappert… if not to see one of ‘em. To know if it's true… or it ain't? A wight and all.”But then Tappert would tell himself he was more interested in the ancient artifacts still rumored to lay deep in the barrow halls. The swords or other weapons of renown, perhaps even crumbling books, or ancient maps impressed on the walls that could be copied down and studied later in the safety of his cozy tower.“Thas' why,” Tappert would whisper to himself later when wondering why he'd done such a foolish thing as getting so close to the old barrow halls of the ancient kings little was known about in the nowadays of these present todays.“Why…” stammered Tappert to Malrond. “I'm…”He couldn't think of an answer or a why, as to why he was out running in the morning fog, jumping at shadows, and clearly headed over toward the acres, maybe, because the way around from the crossroad that he was clearly about to take would lead him there directly.But it was clear he was lying, or at least… omitting. Or at least it would be. And it was best not to do that with a wizard when important matters were on the line.So Tapper did not.“Why… I am off to see Ol' Sorley about a medical problem I'm having… this morning.”The wizard mused his pipe, waiting for the lie to reveal itself. Or at least, that was the feeling Tappert had as he stood there quite uncomfortably. And, as if some small voice whispered to Tappert that now was when the liar would double down and explain more as if to mortar or seal the lie like it was an odd stone in a country wall that needed more fidgeting than fixing in place, Tappert ignored that suggestion [NC4] and instead said nothing.Like a pro as his friends would have said.The wizard blew a large smoke ring at Tappert though he seemed not to even inhale, or exhale, for that matter.In the mist, growing colder and thicker by the moment, it was as though the elven eyes of the sorcerer had turned into burning dark coals, studying Tappert in the deepening of the dark that was so… well, dark… it seemed for a moment there that it was not first morning at ‘tall, but perhaps end o' day when dark came early due to the mists from off the coast.This was… Tappert would think later… passing queer.A liar would lie more, Tappert told himself in the same instant and continued to say nothing.Finally, the wizard removed his long-stemmed pipe from his thin mouth and murmured, “I hope it is nothing… too serious, Tappert?”Tappert gave a short giggle which is a very bobbin thing to do when uncomfortable about some delicate matter and wishing not to be impolite but also not revealing.Tappert patted his stomach, covered by a fine cut waistcoat with three brass buttons. “Nothing a tonic won't see to this morning, I hope, Malrond. I should be…” Tappert trailed off.“Yes, going,” finished the wizard. “Sorry to have waylaid you. May I ask one small question though, my young Tappert?”Tappert said nothing and the wizard stepped forward and leaned slightly as though seeking to keep the matter just between the two of them. His boots grinding the gravel of the road in the thick foggy silence.“Were you out… late… last night?”Tappert made a face, pure acting and showing nothing but startled pleasantness. Then, “Well of course, Malrond. I often take walks into the east country, and I was there until moon fall in the early dark. By the time I got home this morning and fried an egg, the mist was thick as jam. Why do you ask, Malrond?”For a long moment the wizard was silent, content merely to peer into the face of the Little as though seeking something he could not quite find… just yet.But he was… looking.Then, “Did you… Tappert… see anything out late last night?”“Why yes, Malrond. I saw many things. Night rooks and old carved stones. I spent a long amount of the night sketching Old King Hill where the Barrow Hall meets Burble Stream down near the fallen kinds. Is there…”Tappert paused. Uncertain for a moment but then, and later he would ask himself how he'd arrived at such a certainty in that tense and dire moment, but certain the wizard knew exactly what it was Tappert was concealing.The stranger.Stabbed in the lane and now surely dying or even dead, quicker by the second with each passing moment, in his guest cottage near the dark smithy atop old Abbey Hill.Tappert danced back and forth for a moment and gave a small burp he feigned, hoping it reinforced the lie of tonic sought.He hated himself for the lie as lying was not in Tappert's nature.“… something I should have seen, specifically, Malrond, sir? Last night in the late. And I do apologize, but I would like to cut Sorely off before he starts off on his rounds as…” Tappert patted his belly, making a gentle yet reminding show of the matter he was supposedly about. “Things do seem to be developing… urgently, Malrond. I must beg off now, if you please.”The wizard stared at Tappert and this was indeed so unusual from his general false yet jovial manner when he barged in during what had been planned to be a pleasant and lonely afternoon tea as all perfect teas should be, or so the very introverted Tappert thought.He really only had four friends and they all knew this about him. Of course they did.Still, Malrond said nothing and failed to release the captive bobbin despite the deceptions of a sour stomach and urgent business impending.So… Tappert sweetened the deal.“I might have tea the end of the week, Malrond. I would be delighted for you to come by if you were in the district, say… three. I will have fresh baked Cinnamon Butter Cookies and a nice pot of Kelsey Grey. We could discuss anything, or anyone, I might have seen roving around in the late. But I fear, Master Malrond, I must take my leave now, if you understand.”The wizard, as though he'd been in a trance through all this, stood suddenly erect and seemed to change in both demeanor and attitude wholly within the blink of an eye.“Why of course, young Tappert. I have taken far, far too much of your time. And… you do have… business… to attend to. Tea. I have marked it and I shall be delighted to attend and have those cookies and a pot. That would be delightful. Perhaps even a delicate cordial of one of your uncle's fine ports from the Havens. It has been long since he took me down into the undercellars and showed me his fine collection for a sampling. I miss such good times and such pleasant conversations we had. We were, great friends, you know. Did he ever tell you that, Tappert?”But by that time, Tappert, bidding many pleasantries, had taken himself off into the mists, running down the old crossroad lane toward the Acres and Sorely Barters, glad that the morning sun was starting to burn through the gloom and mist once he'd left the wizard's disquieting presence.Also, my latest audiobook is out! The Tragedy of the Strange Company continues “Absolute banger!” 5 Stars!!!!!Get it on…again! The Strange Company is back and on the defensive.A massive invasion of a major Monarch world gets underway and the weird warrant officers of Voodoo Platoon move into their roles as combat multipliers at the front lines of an incredible no-holds-barred brawl for battlefield domination. Facing legions of Ultramarines, a weaponized population, and re-engineered combat veterans augmented by cybernetics, the stone-cold killers and ready-to-rumble rogues of Strange, fighting alongside a newly christened mech combat team, must hold a gateway landing zone against overwhelming odds.But the Ultras aren't the premier elite fighting unit of the crumbling Monarch Empire for nothing. Defeat isn't even on the table for this military death cult of galactic warriors the Strange faces across a charred and dangerous battlefield.To the legendary Ultramarines, this is the last battle; the final conflict, and nothing less than their honor and a place in history are at stake. To survive, Reaper, Dog, and Voodoo Platoons will have to play every dirty trick in the book of war in a desperate, high-cycle, ride-the-lightning defense of a bad LZ where both sides know what they do here will echo into eternity.The tragedy of the Strange Company continues on LZ Heartbreak. Just because it's a bad idea, doesn't mean it won't be fun. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit nickcole.substack.com/subscribe

October 10, 2022 Rockingham County Board Of EducationAGENDA1. Call to Order1.01 Roll Call2. Announcements2.01 The Work Session is scheduled at 12:00 Noon for Monday, October 24, 2022 at South End Elementary School Gymnasium located at 1307 South Park Drive, Reidsville, NC2.02 The next Board Meeting is scheduled for Monday, November 14, 2022 at 6:00 p.m. at Central Administrative Offices at 511 Harrington Highway, Eden, NC3. Moment of Prayer3.01 Pastor Jaret McBryde from New Lebanon Church, Reidsville, North Carolina4. Pledge of Allegiance / Agenda Approval / Recognitions4.01 Pledge of Allegiance4.02 Approval of Agenda4.03 Recognitions: Teacher Leader Academy Cohort (15 Teachers); DPI Outstanding Math Teachers Named: Kelsey Heiney from Wentworth Elementary and Ramona Bankston from Early College; Outstanding History Teacher Named by N.C. Historical Society is Valencia Abbott from Early College5. Public Comments / Board Comments5.01 Public Comments - At this time the board will hear public comments5.02 Board Comments6. Consent Agenda6.01 Consent Approval - Gifts, Grants and Donations - Ms. Annie Ellis6.02 Consent Approval - Head Start Program Monthly Update - Ms. Annie Ellis6.03 Consent Approval - Adoption of Board Policies and Policies on First Reading - Dr. Cindy Corcoran6.04 Consent Approval - RCHS Fundraiser - Sale of Gym Floor Pieces - Ms. Erselle Young6.05 Consent Approval - Permission to Ask County Commissioners to Transfer Leftover Funds from Old Bethany Roof Project - Ms. Erselle Young6.06 Consent Approval - Meeting Minutes for Board Approval - Open Session Board Minutes September 12, 2022; Open Session Special Called Meeting for Attorney Interviews September 15, 2022 and Open Session Work Session Minutes for September 26, 2022 as presented.7. Action Items7.01 Approval - 2022-2023 Annual Budget Resolution - Ms. Annie Ellis7.02 Approval - CTE: District C Student Teamship Funds - Dr. Charles Perkins7.03 Superintendent's Report - Mr. John Stover7.04 Board Chair Announcements - Ms. Kimberly McMichael, Board Chair8. Closed Session9. Open Session9.01 Personnel Report - Approval of Personnel Actions10. Adjournment10.01 Motion to adjourn###

Read last week's episode hereChapter FiveThe stranger the Littles had named Walker was out and into the late night with the bundle of the ruck sack in one hand.He stopped in the wide courtyard and smelled the night. Beyond the heady scent of the eucalyptus trees the Littles planted in this region to protect their crops from the cruel late night and early morning frost and mist, he could smell the dust of the roads, the salt from out along the ocean, and the general aroma of things growing in the lands all around.And… he could smell others out there tonight. Unclean things coming along in the dark as they were known to do. They were here, unseen and out there in the darkness, undetectable because of their sorceries and craft, but there all the same.By the sign in the dirt of the courtyard he could see their trace, just barely. They were crafty and careful, and they'd come close to listen to what passed beyond the great door of the dark inn.Pulling his hood over his head he headed off down the lane, away from the coast and the road that ran south to the tower of Sirith Osildor, or north to Indolién. He moved swiftly, not bothering to cast a look back, knowing they were there in clusters, working their nets already and seeking where they could come upon him and catch him. They were new to these lands now that the sacred boundaries of the Black River had been violated. But as he moved fast and farther into the dark beyond the inn proper and the fields that surrounded it, each new scent on the wind confirmed to Walker what he already knew.They were here on this wilding night. And they'd come for him.The stranger took the northeastern road up out of the area around the Last Friendly Inn. Walker moved swiftly up and along the way, passing the last few Little homes in the district, he could still see the soft glow of candlelight coming from firelit kitchens and knowing that the simple gentlefolk there were possibly about a late night snack of perhaps some of the last of the winter smoked ham, a fried egg or six, and of course the Hot Lilly they all liked to make and put up for the winter from last year's harvest.The stranger had to admit to himself that he could have used a bit of that peppery fire, and a well-cooked egg, and perhaps even a fatty slice of ham. He had a long night in front of him, and if he was going to outmaneuver his pursuers in the dark wilds toward the northeast, then he was going to have to cover some rough country to come at Indolién from a direction no one suspected.And was he even going to Indolién? Perhaps the hour for the great city was too late even now that the gateways to the south were wide open. And perhaps it was best to do as Bearkiller had bade him to now.Set to his mission this night even though it was surest death and there was no hunting fellowship to see it done.Those thoughts bothered Walker as he moved, shouldered the ruck, and ran one gloved hand over the leather scabbard of the sword. He gave it a slight pull, executing the barest of draws. Just to make sure the blade was ready to clear leather should the fight come soon.And soon enough it would come. That was a safe bet for this night.The first rise out of the coastal valley that lay next to the small ridge of hill and the wide plains along the sea, showed him the district of the Littles behind, and the wide and big moon starting down toward the sea.Out there the sea was empty and made like the armor of the Elven Horse by the moon. There were no silver sails of Indolién. But, and Walker's eyes were keen, there were black sails out there, in the mist, and out in the open, testing the waters between the Outer Islands and the approaches to the harbor at Indolién.But he really only pretended to be interested in the wide moonlit sea out there tonight. Instead, he'd turned to survey the shadows of the trees, the draws, and the quiet places where he knew his pursuers must be waiting. Threading winter's deadfall carefully to stay on his trail.The Men of the North are known for their ability to run for days at a time. But now, in the dark, and heading into the East, pursued by an unknown force, now was not the time to run. Running was easier to track, and the goblins were known to run for long periods too. And what if they had the support of some riders? Dark horse or even wolf?The best trick now, thought Walker, who was more skilled than most at tracking and evasion within the woods, was to throw them off and move quietly away in some other direction than the one they were certain he was pursuing. There was a greater chance of losing them altogether, and if they did find his trail, then he could set traps and deadfalls, or lure them into dangerous places they might not get out of.Now he followed what the Littles did not call the Old Road. This was the Northeastern Lane according to the Littles. It was an  ancient[NC1]  way made so by the Old Kings but now, and in the long years since, it had turned to little more than a wide winding path that would make its way in a very haphazard fashion up into the Dry Hills country and through the small hamlets, holds, and large farms of the Highlands Littles who lived up that way.Walker stood for long minutes, waiting as the moon sank down toward the distant sea. Across the many roads and ways down there among the Little's strawberry farms near the coast, the watch had come out to light the lanterns that lay along the roads and wide spaces between their villages, as their job had been for many generations.He could see none of his pursuers down there in the dark, but he sensed their presence all the same. He checked the dagger in just the same manner as he had the sword, and thus satisfied, turned, topped the rise as fast he could, and started up into Dry Hill country by heading down the opposite side of the large hill and down into the low hollows that lay between the rising landscape that formed the Dry Hills area.There was nothing but late-night silence, perhaps some occasional owl calling out, and then there was the wind from down along the coast raced quickly up into the hills, moving through the stands of oak and other clustering trees causing them to whisper in hushed tones.That would be good. It would cover the sound of his passage once he left the road. And the shifting winds would cause all the shadows to move in the tress and underneath them, not just his.“Perhaps there may even be fog later,” he said to himself though no one was about to hear. It was his way, forged by hard years on the road, alone, and his investigations into all the forgotten places of the world. Often, when no one else was around, he would speak out his plans, his advantages, and the obstacles facing him, talking through it all just to hear if there was any falseness in them.This was a habit he'd acquired from the Men of the North, and his time among their scouts and warriors before he found his way among the Storytellers, where talking, and the telling of things, became not just second nature, but a language all its own full of many strange truths.So, Walker reminded himself that the fog might just come up into the low areas beneath the Dry Hills and perhaps along old streams and creeks of the hills, following the paths of such to send its misty tendrils up aways a little bit more. And that would be good for him against the shadows that stalked him even now. Moving in the fog would be like moving under a blanket. Concealing him and allowing him to hear them blundering about.But the fog did not come to aid Walker before he was forced to give battle against them in a lonely old hollow once called the Charring Tree Wayside for no reason any of the Littles of these present days could ever remember. Though the reason why it was named such was known to the Storytellers and kept in their records and annals. The Charring Tree Wayside was a place of ancient evils and Walker, as he moved swiftly, his road-eating stride long and relentless, cursed himself inwardly for not having thought they would be waiting for him among the crumbled rune-laden stones of that sort of place.Such fell creatures were oft ever[NC2]  attracted to all the ancient evils that were ever done under the sun. It was ever their way, and Walker cursed himself for not having taken this into account as they closed their noose about him in the night.The hunters that faced him were Moon Fen Goblins from out of the eastern waystes beyond the Black River itself. An area of ancient sunken kingdoms and the shattered remains of an old battle where the bones and broken weapons of ancient heroes and foes still lay within the mud and the vast lakes of that area. Moon Fen Goblins were predators more animal than sentient. The orcish warlords used them as such. Excellent hunters, stealthy creepers, they moved like hunting wolves in packs when they needed to, and creeping snakes when they must. They were excellent at infiltrating held lands on long range patrols deep in enemy territory and it made sense that in the aftermath of the fall of Sirith Osildor and the ancient tower, they would be the first ranging into these lands. Often led by a strong leader, these Moon Fen Goblins had probably come north in the weeks before the battle of Sirith Osildor as some sort of screening force and perhaps they were not specifically sent to find him but had spotted him moving slowly and steadily north after the battle.The first arrow of their attack came at the stranger out of the darkness as he entered the hollow and it was thanks to the swiftness of his kind that he sensed its flight and reacted by throwing himself against a sturdy oak for immediate cover.The speeding arrow whipped past and off along the road. A second came, flying dark and fast in the night, and later several more slammed into the oak, or began to whistle through the air all around him.The sorceries that had guarded them were now broken and he could see their foul presence revealed in the last of the spectral moonlight. Soon it would be dark, but as has been said, he had keen eyes, and the years he'd spent among the Men, and the Outcasts, had given him tricks and sharp eyes even for the darkest of nights.The goblin hunters had ringed the clearing at the bottom of the hollow, staying well back up along the brush and tree covered slopes. There were five of them, and five was an evil number.Use me now, whispered the voice in Walker's mind. He ignored it and shifted the bundle under his other arm. A moment later he drew his old blade with barely the snik it took to clear leather.He'd faced longer odds before. But no fight was ever fair. Or guaranteed of an outcome. They were archers and his bow had not made the journey with him north, instead breaking in battle as the Watch tried to hold the throughway beneath Sirith Osildor in the last hours before defeat.Use me now, Hecil, whispered the voice from within the bundle. Two are better than one and I shall help you though you are not elvenkind. Turn loose my powers and strike them down, ancient Man. I thirst for vengeance. Even the pitiful blood of these dark hounds long from home will do for now. Turn me loose and watch me free you… of the trap you have gotten yourself into.The voice was female. Whether elven, human, or some such other race… Walker did not know.But he didn't like it and he'd heard its siren's call since being tasked with the carrying of the object in the bundle of his old travel ruck away from the dusty crypts beneath the tower.But he'd been warned. Warned by Bearkiller and Almandir. And warnings from old Mountain Men were to be heeded. Walker had himself learned that during many hard lessons and come to trust their wisdom in the years since, always testing it. Always finding it true.Still, the thing in his ruck called to him, as he heard the shadow orcs moving about in the brush of the hollow, whispering and giggling like it was play, scrabbling and cursing in the Black Speech. Firing their whistling bolts and seeking to move to their next cover as he quiet shifted [NC3] from cover to cover, ever one step ahead of their targeting.Perhaps, thought Walker as he sought some advantage, they are not aware I possess no bow this night. If they were… then they would rush as one and try to take what I bear.Walker bent and picked up a stone. He waited for a moment, then whipped it at a noise nearby. Whether it struck home or not, that was not his intention. For a moment they stopped their firing, whistling their hunting speech[NC4] [NC5]  and orders. Unsure of what the noise was and what their prey was about even now when he was cornered down here in the dark.But with the next seconds, using their uncertain halt, Walker was already moving up on them. Blades out. And as everyone knows, Men make no sound when they wish not to. Even if they are booted and clothed in the rough and woodlands manner of their peoples from ages past just as Walker was when he came upon them in the dark. A traveler. Not some Emerald Knight in full armor. Servant of the throne of Indolién.The traveling stone he'd whipped at them had gone off through the brush and perhaps the goblins, because these were hunters, predators, thought it was him fleeing suddenly off in a new direction.[NC6]  They were waiting for more sounds to confirm his flight when suddenly Walker exploded upon the first one, running that tall and lean goblin through with a simple stab of his old blade. It was done quick which was best[NC7] , and he shook the green creature, covered in black greasy stripes, naked and warty from the waist up, off his blade and made quick his next attack. The weapon he wielded was a blade borne in the wars across the desert waystes to the east[NC8] , and the long years he'd haunted the southern lands seeking rumors of the mission he'd been sent on long[NC9]  ago. It was a simple blade. No magic in it[NC10] . No elven craft or sorcery. Something forged in the cruel furnaces of the north by mighty men who worked at hot forge and heavy hammer beneath the cold shadow of snow-capped mountains on cold mornings and even colder nights.The sharp blade pushed neatly though the spindly Moon River Goblin kitted only in the barest traveling armor and carrying a darkwood bow. The horrid creature wore a gray sash across the bottom half of his twisted face, and though one ear was missing, he'd managed long ago to pierce what was left of the nub with an old misshapen and milky pearl the likes of which were unseen in the north.That one died gasping and kneeling.Moving swiftly forward, Walker hefted the blade and drove it though the creatures back, then pushed it until it came out another goblin hunter's concave sternum[NC11] . He grasped that foul-smelling one[NC12]  quickly with the well-worn leather glove of his other hand and smothered the cry of alert and murder the night hunter was bound to give in the next instant, ignoring the whispers of blood, blood, and goblin blood, pleading in his mind from the thing in the ruck on his back.There were five here in the dark but there was confusion, and the goblin hunters were uncertain for a moment as he moved swiftly among them.He held the goblin close, counting the remaining and seeing they were distracted with the confusion he'd caused them. He waited for the creature to die, its stench rising up into his nostrils and mixing with the night and the sickly sweet decay of the old hollow where once, much wickedness had been done long ago.The rest of the hunters were moving in the next seconds, finding themselves and calling, really whispering to one another, in their vile black speak.“Cuzza suum Guzudi?” they hissed softly to one another. Some cant for counting and coordinating in battle, guessed Walker as the one in his arms began to go limp with loss of life and blood, turning to little more than dead weight.Walker withdrew his blade, not bothering to wipe the fetid blood from it, tossed the rags of the thin twisted corpse into a sunken carved stone, long hidden here, and moved toward his next target, a dangerous thing now among the hunters in the dark.Or at least for the moment.The hunting party whispered their hissing speech to one another from across the distances that separated them in their ambush, clearly angry and growing more panicked by the second as the wild man among them began to hew and cleave at them with the long and deadly blade.It was a bad stroke[NC13]  the goblin Walker chose next. The thing struck light to a ghostly green lantern and turned, illuminating the savage man and blade just feet away and coming for it at the last instant there in the deeps of the ancient hollow.“Heeeyai!” it screamed, frightened, and leapt forward suddenly, slashing at Walker with a small cruel dagger it carried. This night hunter had placed his strung bow about his slender chest in order to work the lantern in the chaos.Though dagger faced the longer blade of the Stranger, no viciousness was spared, and no quarter given. The agile little goblin, maintaining a deft hold on the bobbing lantern spewing a mossy green illumination, attacked swiftly, slashing wildly to force the stranger to give ground downslope. The cuts were wicked and had they found flesh they would have been equally deadly for goblin blades are oft poisoned. Walker's worn grey cloak caught a quick slash before he was able to parry a wicked thrust with his own rapidly deployed dagger. A moment later he brought his old sword around in a quick arc and forced the dagger aloft and away from its defense.With the cruel little sticker out of the way, Walker withdrew his blade and plunged it forward an instant later as the orc began to call an alert of, “Heeyaa--,” once more.There were two left of this small hunting clutch now, and they came toward the lantern of the dying goblin hunter on the ground, thundering through the brush to catch the stranger in the act of sudden attack and murder.In the distances there were others, whistling their alerts to contact.Perhaps their leader, one of the ones Walker had killed already, had wanted the taking of the prize they'd been sent to find this deep in enemy territory on their scout, for himself. And so, he had not sounded the alert. But now there were many others in the hills this long night, other bands of Moon Fen Goblins, and so whoever ran this clutch hadn't given air to his horn to alert the nearby bands of hunters and assassins that the prey was found and run to ground. Perhaps he'd made that decision in the early moments of the battle, when the black arrows had whistled through the night and he'd hoped for an easy kill and a soft plunder, returning to their masters with the thing that was sought.Or keeping it if he found it lovely enough.Perhaps…But now with three clearly dead, and two calling by shrill whistle for more, Walker presumed their leader dead. And for a moment, amid the fight, he sensed his chance to get away. To hit hard, and then fade away like some ghost that never was there.Men are ever a cruel and tricky lot in battle.Then there was a third moving fast through the tangle of the old and unkempt hollow, and this one was surely the leader if only because his armor and bulk were much more than the others in the shadows of the night.The survivors of the hunting party he'd fallen upon attacked as one as the other two hunters joined the leader against Walker. The leader swept a blade out savagely, raised a ram's horn and blew, alerting one and all in the host of goblins out that wilding night that the quarry had been run to ground finally.One blast would let the others know the prey had been found.A second blast would tell their ears where.The swarthy, bandy-legged creature with a bald and scarred scalp and missing fingers, sucked in another lungful of air, preparing the second blast to alert the location of the fight, and then a dagger from the man appeared dead center in his chest.Flung from out of the night, coming from the battle along the hollow floor, his fellow goblin hunters mere whirling shadows in the battle against the night-wraith of the man, the stranger a thing of darkness in the night seeming more so than even them, had flung his dagger to stop the alert and the goblin leader died watching it appear in his chest just above the old armor he wore.It struck with such force that the wind was knocked from the goblin leader and he let go of the horn as he died.Perhaps… thought the leader as darkness took him, unable to gain even the slightest bit of air, perhaps the whispering voice in the bundle was the thing they'd been sent for.And then he was dead, rolling down the slope among the old leaves and waiting spiders, coming to rest against a cracked rune-covered cut stone that offered no comfort in the night.With three dead, two should have been fine to deal with. But the wild man called Walker found himself challenged against the two hunters who'd brought out their curved little blades no bigger than a troll's dagger. Perhaps these two had been the up and comers in the hunting pack. Those who'd one day challenge the pack warlord for supremacy of the tribe, the mates, and the mean horde of stolen gold and captured gems the orcs of Moon Fen regarded as wealth and status, buried out in the high cliffs beneath the waters of the Dead Sea deep in the waystes.Their ancestral homes for reasons not even they knew.Perhaps these were those, Walker's storyteller's mind wove. Because there was a story to everything, and everything was a story. Still, that did not stop his parries or opportunistic thrusts to gain advantage as their steel rang out in the night and the horns of other hunting parties cried out in dark joy. He may have caught one on the arm, given a good slice because there was blood under foot and spraying about as the fight continued. But the battle was too close and too hectic, switching ground and seeking advantage one moment to the next for him to see which shadow he'd wounded.And still the thing whispering in his mind hadn't stopped. And if anything, it had grown to distract. Demanding now to be used for that which it was made for.Chaos. Blood. Death.Walker ignored these whispers, not bothering to pay mind as he fended off the two attackers along the bottom of the ancient hollow. Neverminding he'd lost his dagger to the dead goblin leader blowing the call for help. Or how imminent that help was in coming soon. Mere minutes perhaps…And then, in just a brief instant, the blink of an eye really, the battle suddenly shifted and was done. The first goblin landed his blade deep in Walker's side but pulled it free in the next. The wound was a silent scream that was both hot and cold in the same unending moment of pain.Walker's lore-minded mind knew this was not good. Perhaps a Mohrgul Blade, he thought as the offending goblin danced away, cackling gutturally, and clicking its broken teeth in some arcane and enigmatic meaning.The other foe sensed its moment with the wounded man's back presenting and struck out with an all or nothing blow to land his own blade in the back of their enemy and join the kill.But this was a mistake. And where the brief fight suddenly changed and ended abruptly. Wounded though a man may be, they are a deadly race all the same. Able to divide their mind away from the things of this life and to concentrate on their task and purpose. Pleasure, or pain, the Men of long ago were able to endure[NC14]  the hardships of the Dark Years and Long Crossing through the Frozen Nethers by putting their minds, and needs, elsewhere despite the harsh circumstances.Perhaps the elves of Indolién had lost that trick, trading it in for the fineries of civilization. Eschewing pain over pleasure.But Men had not.Walker's path had been much different than both men and elves. And his life a return in many respects to the old ways much sneered about in the Emerald Courts. So, it was nothing for him to simply ignore the fatal wound[NC15]  and swing wide as he heard the suddenly foolish headlong rush of the other goblin smelling blood and excited for the kill. The old blade of the savage man bit deep into the orc's skull and came away with brain matter and bone. The cut wasn't clean… but it was enough.The other goblin who'd backed off to enjoy his victory and cowardly slice, was surprised to see the deadly arc of the stranger's blade take off the head of his comrade… and then… come for him in the same moment as the Man turned his pivot into a tremendous sure-footed rush across the treacherous deadfall of the old hollow. Giving ground, backpedaling, the lean goblin threw up both its black claws, one still holding its own blade, to fend off the furious attack. But this was to little avail as the blade of the man rammed home and pinned the sly hunter dead against the trunk of an old twisting oak.Run though its tiny black heart, the last thing the cruel goblin hunter heard was the sudden snap of the man's blade against the solidness of the oak as the warrior pushed it through, having a bad angle and revealing some old fault within the forged metal waiting for just such a moment to occur.In the silence that followed, Walker backed away holding the hilt of the broken weapon he'd borne long in his travels.Hearing the laugh of the whispering voice hidden within his worn ruck turn to the full-throated satisfaction of seductress scorned. The voice of the thing in the bundle.Gray wisps of smoke crawled from out its knotted covering.Walker could feel his own blood running down his side and along his leg. Into his boot. But there wasn't any time for this. In the distance he could hear the others, the other night hunters coming for him, calling one to [NC16] another out there in the late night. Coming to do the evil the horn had called them for.Coming for him. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit nickcole.substack.com/subscribe

Read last week's Episode hereChapter FourWalkerSome in the district had known this one as Walker. Few in fact still recalled the name by which he went these days. It had been many a year since the stranger, a man with a ragged scar about his throat, had been through these parts. In the days prior to the night of the Telling of the Show at the Last Friendly Inn, Walker had been seen “close and thereabouts” as the Littles like to say of strangers passing along the road to the south, or the smaller lanes and even trails that wove on out toward Olive Hills and the Dry Stretch. Or even further into the unreckoned neighborhoods of Barrows Valley and all that unknown that lay beyond its eastern edge.But there had been many dark figures on the road and out in the hills lately. Some said Gobs. Others, the Hobbs themselves. Goblins or the larger and nastier variety hobgoblins[NC1] . But of course the Littles always defaulted to their favorite boogedyman… ‘warewoofs.Now the candles were burning very low within the inn, and the fire within the hearth had reduced itself to little more than ash and an orange glow. This was the last of the night at the inn and now all that lay ahead in the darkness was quiet, and perhaps one low candle burning. And of course, the lanterns out along the roads and lanes kept going by the Night Watch. Outside the inn, occasional bursts of the windy thunder came off the distant coast and roared across Strawberry Flats sending small disquieting moans down its antique length just inland from the shores.No one moved and there was no sound in the inn until once more Walker began to speak, only the creaking of his road-wearied leathers breaking the silence just before he began.“The enemy was not defeated at Sirith Osildor,” rasped the stranger the Littles knew as Walker. He moved closer to them, and one would think his old high hard-worn boots would have made some soft thump across the ancient boards as he moved. Like some cheap travelling tragedian playing the stage to effect. But the strange man, and weren't all men strange, moved without a sound and this gave truth to the rumor that he leagued with the Forest Watchers, a dangerous lot of Northern Men long come down out of the North whose ways and beliefs were strange and mysterious to the elves of Indolién and even more so to the many good folk of the Gentle Lands.Walker made eye contact with them all and then returned to watching the last embers of the fire. His grim face was made even more so by the little light left in the room.“The enemy were not turned back and sent to flight…” he paused. Then, “… as you saw in the wizard's tricks and lying glamours.”“But we saw the truth?” stammered old Hoot TacMavish who'd been in the kitchen and had sliced his own cut of the wheel. “How cannee be different in what we saw, stranger?”He chewed his cheese as they waited for the response he'd seemed to angrily demand.But the stranger did not answer Hoot directly and continued to stare into the orange coals as he moved closer from out of the darkness and toward the hearth so they could see him better.“Nor did Adoras strike a blow among many against the Wyrm. Coming in against the flanks of the shadow, as you have been told. None of those things happened. And if you want to know what is true… then that is not it and never has been from the lips of the Elves of Indolién.”“Then Adoras did not ride?” piped up one of the Littles.Walker smiled. It was not the smile of a man playing with prey. Nor was it the smile of someone who despises a question in the middle of their speech. No, it was a sad, yet kind smile.“Did you see in the last week a great host move along the road, heading south to the battle you were told of?” asked Walker softly. As though[NC2]  it was a real question, and no one had asked was because the answer is known, and the asker merely wants to make the listener seem foolish. No. It was an honest question. One that almost seemed like he'd prefer the answer that made him the liar. As though, a different answer would have been better than the one that was.The Little said nothing.“Because surely you would have seen so many of the Elven Cavalry and Spear, glittering and bright in Indolién's sacred armors. I tell you… you would not have missed such a sight.”“It's no[NC3] t like that,” said the Little. Walker replied nothing. The Little stammered and sallied on which is their way when they're on about something. Not easily dissuaded those Littles aren't. “Well… ‘tis all tactics like, Walker. Thas' what your name is, isn't it? They came at them from the flank as good ol' Malrond says so. The way I figures the maps, they must've taken the Eastern Hills road and gone out through Olive Wood or even Wild Tangle… or maybe…” and here the Little crossed himself and made a sign at this next bit, “Or Even Barrows Valley though I don't like to even say it much less think it.”“Aye,” piped in Tom MacTarthy who ran the stable and had come in to find his last pint of the night. Something had made him uneasy out there in the dark all alone, and the ponies had gone skittish, and it had taken him much hay and whispering to calm them down. Like there was some predator about but none that he could see. Maybe it was the wind, he'd decided after a bit, when he'd made up his mind to go pull himself a pint and found Fatty and others still gathered by the main hearth listening to the palaver of the stranger. A man no less. But the mood in the inn felt just as a thunderstorm, he'd tell others later when they'd listen.Walker stopped and didn't turn to look at a one of them. He was still before the dying fire. Behind him near the bar, the sound of Tom blowing the froth of his pint was the only sound that could be heard for a moment. Then the wind ran through the eaves high up on the third story and through the ancient section that was known as the Old Count's Tower that was part of the inn and far older than anyone suspected.But that is an older tale and has nothing to do with this one. Which is how things often are. There are more stories out there than you can imagine. On every walk in every out of the way place, there are many lying in the shadows and down undiscovered trails.“And so…” continued Walker, “… no one came from down the Barrow Hills ways and gave account of the long snake of an elven army in full armor and on the march for battle? Not to one of you ever talkative lot of Littles… well, I find that hard to believe.”Silence.“Well, t'wouldn't it be secret-like?” asked one of the other Littles near the fire. “Elves is queer strange and who knows them ways of our betters and all. But ifn' anyone could do it… well stands to reason t'would be mighty Prince Adoras and the lot o' his generals.”“Are you saying Good Ol' Malrond lied to us?” said another quickly on the heels of this.“No,” said Walker more to himself than to his audience. “Prince Adoras did not come to battle in the South. In fact… there was no elven host to give battle to the Shadow himself or that wyrm that curls about the tower even now.”“How say'ee that? How do ye know?” asked another, his eyes and lips full of incredulity.“Because I was there, my Little friend,” said Walker after a long cool moment, and then sat down in a low chair near the fire. His coal black eyes still intent on the fire regardless.“I will tell you a story then, my friends,” he began with a tired sigh. A dog barked outside, savagely for a few seconds and to this the man listened. When it stopped, he told Fatty to lock the doors to the inn and gave no reason for it. Fatty, jangling his big ring of keys, dashed off to do just that. Then Walker began to speak.“The story of the fall of Sirith Osildor, Tower of the Golden Eagle as it was once known by another name. Maldornesoron it was once called. But not now. Not anymore in these dark and treacherous days. The warriors who died holding a line there a few nights ago, held for help that would never come from fair Indolién.”Now the weathered man cast his tired yet kind gaze about them all and it was not unkind, or even prideful or arrogant as most elves can be. No. It was the look of a long-suffering and patient friend in times that are difficult. Or of the kind one wears when explaining difficulties to young ‘uns. He seemed to nod to himself regarding what he might say next before continuing on. And when he was satisfied with the answer he had decided to give, he began his story in full.It was just words. Not like magics. Not like the wizard's smoke and shadows. But there was power in these. And more so some would say later.“The armies of the Shadow came howling out of the southern waystes on the first full moon of spring. Earlier than expected, but the Tower Watch had gone deeper into the waystes, scouting in small bands, than it ever had before that winter, and it was clear the orcish tribes would be on the move come spring. Some said just another war between themselves. Or against the Eastern lands and the Ancient Kingdoms of Men. Or even the Indaar. But Bear Killer of the Watch said it would be Osildor if it was anywhere. So, we gathered to assist the elves of the Tower where we could, and within days, we found ourselves fighting for the outskirts of the river and dock district as the forces of the Shadow gathered across the waters of the river. The wizard's sorceries were true enough in some respects, outright lies in others. But isn't that how the best lies always are… some sweet grains of truth to wash down the bitter lies one finds in the cup. What we wouldn't have given for a good wall to fight from. But the throne of Indolién has long thought the Black River to be a good enough defense, though why anyone would think that has always been a mystery to Men of the Watch. It's easier to cross than most and in almost every place, and sometimes near dry as bone when the rains don't come down in the Eastern Mountains.“But there was no wall and so we fought side by side with Gaelrandir's Spear along the docks and into the city dregs near the river. The orcish war chiefs were crafty and very clever the first night. Never coming straight on at the tower where our might was most gathered. But instead forcing us into a battle for blocks and neighborhoods long abandoned and some say even haunted.“In one such street my brotherhood faced one of the Eld Longdarks, and it was there we gave battle and lost half our number in combat.”Several of the Littles gasped in amazement.The Eld were the stuff of nightmares and boogey tales of the long ago from the Age of Darkness before the lands were the way they would be. Longdark Trolls were considered the worst predators of the night and known to dine on the bones of their enemies in preference to the flesh they stripped away with stone daggers.“A named beast this was,” continued Walker as he watched the embers unblinkingly. As though he were seeing it all as it had been seen on the dark night. “Fell and Eld indeed was this one. Oggrindaar he was known by in the speech of the Eldarin Elves who once ruled from mighty Easold the Lost. He came out from the ruins of an ancient temple, fangs dripping with blood and red murder in his burning eyes. His hide though leathery, was tough and scarred from a thousand years of battle in the deep halls of the earth where few have ever been. And fewer still returned from. Girded with fabled Giant's Plate, like those of its kind wore who fell in battle before the Malantur, the eld troll who little feared our small company of watchers armed with bow and sword. But they are men of the road, the watchers, and no mere foe to be trifled with even when a dread troll is in the mix. And I will say this, the elves were there too, and the elves do not spend their lives cheaply.”Silence as Walker turned from the fire to watch their small yet expressive faces. Their minds did more work and saw more truth that the glimmers of the wizard could have manufactured. The mind is so much more powerful than the mere trickeries of image and light. When given the chance, it destroys those things.“We strove hours into the late night against the enemy there and three of us were killed by dark fire from the black arrows of the shadow orcs supporting the raging dread troll. Greybeard was wounded sorely but fought on at the front of the company, facing down the roaring troll, trading blows with his ancient blade and driving the beast back into the burning ruins of the temple he'd come out from. A moment later the whole rotting structure collapsed when the great troll was mortally wounded and gave out a horrific cry at its last, defeated. But in the same moment our clan lord was gone from this earth. We gave not a moment to our grief and pressed the attack against the orc archers and infantry surging into the street from every direction because even their chiefs, fiends every one of them, knew the battle was here this night.“I would tell you that right there we won the district and turned the tide of battle, reclaiming the lost street and putting the Shadow host to the sword wherever they could be found. But I cannot for that would be a lie… and a betrayal to my oath as a storyteller.”Now at the word storyteller all the Littles as one seemed to lean back in their chairs or shift their feet uncomfortably.Why so, you might ask at such an innocuous word. Isn't a storyteller a tale teller? A bard? A skald? An entertainer or even a mountebank in some low cases? A tragedian as has been mentioned?No.No, a storyteller is none of those things. And so, Walker was not.During those dark and uncertain times, a storyteller was something much more than just a gossip with a gift for fine speech. In the years since the rise of the wizards in the Emerald Council, the once noble storytellers had long fallen out of favor with the lands. It was rumored, whispered constantly, and even mocked in the murmurings of court before the Emerald Throne and among the pleasures of the Feather Gardens, that to be called a ‘storyteller' in polite company, was to be awarded the highest insult with the most dismissive of slurs.To admit to being one, that is another thing altogether. And one you shall see the nature of as we go along here for a bit.But Walker did not mind their discomfort and continued on with the tale, seeing that they would listen more now. Which is all a storyteller needs.Someone to listen to the truth the storyteller is telling. Instead of locking it up in a tower, or beneath the lost Vaults of Unthur where living eye has not been for long years to see what truly lies buried there in the deeps of time.“Within days we had lost the district and many valiant warriors,” continued Walker plainly. No tricks. No smoke. No shadows. “Elves and men who serve despite the pleasures of the throne, fought valiantly to the last for such is the way of warriors. Stagg the Swift, a watcher, fell in the Water Courts beneath the shadow of the tower. Daeanor Longblade himself, against the orcs holding the way between Straight Street and the Mire Warrens where strange things haunt the nights. Daeanir, brother of the Longblade himself, fell too, hours later at the foot of the tower as we sought to make our last stand. I could tell you all on this strange and quiet night, of many others who fell, many names to be recorded in the Book of Deeds when this is done, told in countless tales high in the Eastern Mountains to keep their memories alive during the dark and uncertain times we face, but all the defeats were the same and the endings as grim as we fought to cede as little ground as possible to the ravening orcish tribes streaming across the Black River and coming for the tower.“There seemed that night to be no end to them.“In the end we were trapped inside the tower and that's when she came. A great drake from the south, an ancient thing from the lost Age of Darkness when Vaugamir Blackhand cast aside the ways of elves and became Lord Sauth and did make war against his brothers and the children.“The drake struck the tower with living black flame, searing the uppermost defenders before trumpet or call to battle could be sounded. We fought it back with our best archers, but no weapons seemed strong enough to drive her off. And meanwhile the orcish host had come against the Mythildor which is the fabled silver gate of the Sirith Osildor crafted long ago by the Eldaar Elves as a gift to men.At once the tower was struck and the great wyrm landed among the uppermost battlements and began wreaking much havoc against the Silver Guards who have long held that watch. I say this now and will say it until I am convinced otherwise… not one of Foemor's warriors survived, instead choosing to give their all against the drake in hope of driving her off the tower, even as it began to collapse along the outer galleries, with great sheets of the fabled marble of Easold's quarries crashing down like foam-tossed surf from the rocky coasts of Nurth.“It was Bearkiller who bade us understand that the tower was lost now and we should flee to our missions. He speaks for the Watch, and so every one of us did as we must and disappeared among the chaos and slaughter, for there was nothing that could be done. No charge. No Adoras. No Norsus striking a fatal blow. And now I have come north into the Gentle Lands as I was bid, to tell you what has truly happened in the South and to seek the trail of the task I have been given. These are the things you must know instead of the glimmers of the wizards who serve the Emerald Court, who would have you believe many other things instead of really what was, and what now is.”“And…” asked Old Barley who'd sat quietly with his pipe in the chair as he always did, dozing and listening. Apparently, he'd been listening more than dozing. “If'n the tower was lost and surrounded by orcs and the like even more terrible than such… well then, a simple farmer like me'self has to ask how came ye through the fight?”    Walker studied the crowd of Littles in the inn close to midnight now. Again, he seemed to hear something afar off in the night that none of them could, and it must be said Littles have fine ears for hearing when they're not going on about something with their mouths. For a moment the man waited, seeking to hear it again so he could confirm his suspicions that it was soon time to move on.But then he continued after a bit.“There were ancient halls beneath the old tower. Carved out during the time of the Mad Kings of Men from the Old Age. The Watch knew of its locations beneath the crypts and led the survivors out through wraith-haunted halls, but not…”And here Walker paused.For a moment the Littles thought his rasping throat that made the whisper voice grim and determined, had merely gone dry. Fatty swept his great bulk toward the taps like some blustering storm at sea suddenly changing course and filled a mug of his best. A moment later he was handing it to the stranger like an offering and backing away like one might from a wild animal found on a forest path late one winter afternoon far from village and home. And safety.But that was not the case. No. Not the case at all. Something had happened down there in the crypts, and it was not to be forgotten. Not since, and not ever. And even as Walker had this thought, the siren call of its truth, which seemed a completely ironic thing compared to what it really was, called to him from the bundle he'd left in the darkness near where he'd first appeared.He cast his dark eyes toward the pack on the floor. It was old, leather, and much used.It seemed to all the Littles in the room that night that a look crossed the stranger's face that seemed to say, or indicate, that he only wanted to be free of its burden for a moment.Wrapped in oilcloth… it… called… to him.And for a moment, something cold and unseen could be felt by the Littles in the room though they knew it not.I'm here. Here with you now, outcast wanderer whose true name I know. Here. Touch me.The man drank the offered pint and wiped his lips with the back of his weathered and dark hand.That bit, that was not for Little ears. Or for any.The Truth is a funny thing, Immaradir the Old had once reminded Walker. Sometimes it is so powerful, it convinces you that you must lie for it.There was that. And there was something else. There were orders. Orders from Bearkiller as he held the hall beneath the crypts, surely dead by now for he's spent his life against crypt wraiths to see our fellowship free of the dark.“… Not without cost,” Walker finished after the long, strange moment that had passed there in the inn. “Many of the Watch there at the Battle of Sirith Osildor perished in the flight through the lower reaches of the halls. Dark things long asleep tried to prevent our passage but the knowledges of the Watchers are useful against such old ghosts. Lore and wisdom regarding how to defeat such is kept as ready as sharp sword and a keen knife for any of the Watch. Still… it was not without cost… to us.”There was another sound out there in the dark tonight. And now Walker could sense the hour and what was going to happen.He heard them now. Gathering out there in the dark. Coming in from the fields and tracks they'd followed him along from the fields of battle… and slaughter. Or had they been waiting there ahead of him all along? Had the wizard's tale been bait, to draw him into the inn.“So why'ee tell us?” asked one of the Littles, unaware of the dark thing at the door to the inn as the Walker was even now. “And who's to say whether Malrond or ye is right in the tellin' of such things as don't concern us of the Gentle Lands. Indoly…” which is what Littles called Indolién, “…is but a day's ride to the north. The elfs may not have marched south but the Army of the King is still there, and I doubt they'll abide a black host coming north anytime soon.”“Tis true enough,” said Walker rising, hand on the hilt of his old sword. “I doubt they'll abide what they can afford to ignore but little longer.[NC4]  But such behaviors as I thought once unexpected have become the norm for such times now and it is best to track by them. Duty and honor are things put on and off like the dress and jewelry of fine elven maids in Indolién. The truth is a piece of thrown pottery that can be shaped as needed and broken when finished with. As long as there is clay, new truths can be manufactured every day and all day. The wizards shape the clay and feed you what they want you to believe.”“But why?”“Why is it ever so, my Little friend? For power and power alone is the answer. And so you must ask yourself good people, and you are truly good, for the Watchers and those who still strive against the Shadow know of what stuff you are made and can count on you, you who were once known by another name long before the elves came into the lands, a name the Storytellers have not forgotten though some of you have even now. What will you do with the truth when it has come home to you? That is really the question for this night.”No one spoke.Walker moved toward his ruck on the floor. The thing wrapped in oilskin inside an old blanket that had been rolled up along the top of the weathered carry.He checked his blade. Felt his knife at his side. Knew that was all he had to face the ones waiting out there in the dark for him.Knew that was a lie.He had so much more. Craft. Knowledge. Truth.“And me, outcast. Hecil. One lost or forsaken by friends, waif, outcast. You have me,” cooed the thing wrapped in oilcloth. Don't forget about me, Hecil.“If it's orcs, or even ‘warewoofs', why we'll fight ‘em to keep our lands free as we always has, Walker,” cried Cormic, swinging his empty mug aloft like it was one of the great swords of fabled renown.Many of which were lost now.Walker watched the burly and brave Little for a moment as he pulled his battered cloak over his head. Piercing eyes stared out from the darkness within at them all. Once more the wind came up like a wild thing from off the coasts and moors and raced along the eaves of the old pile and down into the chimney.It was a strange night indeed.“I know you will, Cormic. The Bobbin always have answered when the Old Kings called, even back to the days of Eld when the Dark Elf ruled the land and there was much terror, and few heroes in those days. The stories have always said so of bobbins.Only a few of the Littles knew that old calling of their race. None were asleep now as they watched the man among them, sure that dark times and trouble were to be had and on their way.“And the stories have always been true. As they must be,” said Walker.Then he was gone out into the late night as Fatty let him out, locking the great lock as soon as the stout and well-kept door was closed and the bolt shot.Also… we'll be doing a Book Club Discussion tomorrow night, Saturday, on my YouTube Check out some books by NickThe American Wasteland TrilogyThe Old Man and the WastelandThe Savage BoyThe Road is a RiverSoda Pop Soldier BooksSoda Pop SoldierPop Kult WarlordCTRL ALT RevoltGalaxy's EdgeForgotten Ruin SeriesThe Tragedy of the Strange Company SeriesStrange CompanyVoodoo WarfareThe End of the World as We Knew ItFight the Rooster This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit nickcole.substack.com/subscribe

Read Last Weeks Chapter HereChapter ThreeThe Question of a StrangerIn time, with the words and images of old Malrond still ringing in their ears and dazzling their sleepy eyes, the Littles and the old inn fell to the late hours. The last revelers, celebrating the victory they'd been told of in the South, they too took themselves off into the night as best they could with songs and lanterns to see their way along the roads to where they must be off to within the district.Though it was still spring, and the night winds at this late hour were as wont to come in off the Great Sea as naught, there definitely was a festive air about those setting off toward their farms and small villages lying along the roads and rivers of the Gentle Lands.Thankfully, the wind was not up on this night and in fact the air had turned pleasantly warm even at this hour as though whispering of a fine summer coming along soon enough.This was all early, but not unappreciated. It would be a good year for crops, so that too was considered a blessing as Littles each and every one of them took themselves off to their homes for an unheard of Late Supper, or perhaps even Cordials and Cheese, which is the third of the three nightly meals they usually are about. This would normally consist of a pie, perhaps some cheese or a fried egg, then of course a fine pastry and a cup of cold milk from the lower larders before bed.[NC1] On toward midnight, perhaps in the hour before, the inn fell to a contemplative yet pleasant darkness as old Fatty gathered up the dishes and cleaned the bar again. Only a few of the Littles were left now. The oldsters, bachelor farmers, and a few of the young yet unmarried sat before the great hearth, nursing the last of what would be poured from Fatty's taps for the night, before the round and large Little innkeeper turned them out one and all with much gruff impatience.There was really no one left in the inn save these rascals and Fatty's large family working at the closing up for the night. Out on the roads across the district, the night watch would be crossing the lonely roads to light the lamps that lit the way between distant and sometimes close places of stead, farm, village, hamlet, and outlying settlement.But there was one other among them that night. A stranger, for the most part. Come in from the road and unconsidered by the lot of them giving their final opinions and musing on what they had seen and heard that night within the Last Friendly Inn.Malrond's Telling of the Show.Such as the stranger were best steered clear of by the Littles as they liked to mutter among themselves when out of hearing. But of course, since there had been much beer poured over the course of the to-be-remembered night, and the news of the great victory before the tower itself in the south had come to them early in the evening, the Littles were much interested in once more discussing all the events. The portents and what they intended, and of course what it all meant for them and their Little World. Holding forth flowed freely and in time the presence of the dark stranger who'd kept to the old alcove within the inn, near the back and the upstairs barrels, had been forgotten.So, he listened to them, silently, and seemed from casual observance, suspiciously uninterested in their palaver.“So that's that, says I,” said Cormic Tarnettle of the East Hills Tarnettles. “Dark forces, say I, has been struck down once more. The wizards o' the council say it'll be a good year for crops and that worries are for others come what may.”“Aye,” muttered Ol' Ned Duggan who was an oldster and not much in the autumn of his years[NC2] . “Ne'er thought I would see a year free of the worries o' the South. Orcs and gobs is one thing and another, I tells ya… but to know that them ‘warewoofs' has been sucked back behind the ol' Blac Gate shore puts a mind at ease. I says that to yas. Used to like to fish down at Cutter's Lake until I saw ‘warewoof' in the dusk of a full moon comin' up. Ne're go down that way a'since, that's for shore.”The other Littles agreed that indeed a good year was upon them all even if it had been purchased with the price of elven blood, flame, and sword in the south. Perhaps even a good age was upon them all, not a few mused. One might even wonder if the old trade with the southern lands would come this way again and…“It's all a lie,” said the stranger from the shadowy recess where Ol' Warshbourne had once done his moneylending. Acquiring a fortune that had built him an estate over in River's Edge that had gone to crumbling in the years since the old miser had passed. Some said it was haunted by the ghost of an elven maiden whose tomb had been rumored to lie upon the haunted grounds nearabouts. But that was…“A lie ye says?” said Cormic Tarnettle as though he were a bit deaf and an oldster like Ned Duggan. Though he was not yet but seemed to be trying out the role as of late. Warming to the weight it might carry and what he could get up to with that.But that's a Tarnettle for you.All the Littles turned to peer into the deep shadows of the old alcove but the firelight from the hearth would not penetrate far across the room and so the Stranger seemed one with the gathering shadows there. Indeed, the darkness that lay there seemed an… unnatural thing to the Littles. A thing unto itself.“Strangers…” muttered Ol' Ned dismissively so only those near the fire might hear. “Never any good come of ‘em, I tells ya.”And perhaps the Littles should have been a bit frightened. Even cautious. But again, the Boch, the meat pastries that had come out late in the evening along with some cold roast chicken seasoned with winter herbs, and a bit of Olive Woods cheese had put the courage into the Littles one and all and so they feared not the shadows, or the stranger and his words within them. The firelight and their companionship, and well, just being in the inn that night, a place much considered the last of the friendly places before one reached the dark and uneven border of the southern lands, gave them a bit more courage than they normally possessed.Perhaps…The stranger spoke up again. His voice was hard and seemed weary with the road, hoarse and dry. Deep like the woods. He had the voice of men who make their ways out of doors often do. Slowed by the weight of great spaces crossed and seen. And though much of him was dark with shadow, there shone eyes that seemed to burn within the shadows. Elven eyes, it seemed for a moment. But then not when you tried to look closer. They were eyes that possessed some other light than that fey and mystical race. Masters of all times since the Ancient Times of the Old Age much remembered in tale and song.“No,” said the figure in the dark. “Not a lie. But lies… yes. There have been many of those tonight.” There was a long pause and the gathered Littles felt that the stranger had said his piece and was finished. They waited politely for more, sure nothing would come.Then, “All told for your amusement… and rest.”The Littles were made uncomfortable, for this was a bit too direct for their tastes in polite conversation, and for such a fine evening of victories recounted and of course, that fine cheese from Olive Woods, hadn't that been nice?Well, it was verging on rude.But they remained silent and did the stranger the courtesy of ceasing their talk, ceding the floorboards and vast silences of the inn to listen to whatever it was this highwayman had to say, for it did seem he was going to speak.The air was almost filled with something before he even began. As though it were the same as Malrond's magic. But different.Definitely different.“What if I were to tell you…” began the stranger, leaning forward. His leathers creaking as he did so, and yes, wasn't that a blade on his hip? “…that everything… and I mean everything you've heard tonight, and in fact every night old Malrond the… Wise… has ever appeared out of the nethers of wherever he comes from, to tell you of yet more good news from the Emerald Throne… what if I were to tell you that all of those things… are lies. Illusions… just like the smoke and shadow within his magic? What if I were to tell you Littles… those things?”Not a one of them replied.“Would you suddenly start a revolt? Would you shun him? Reject the things Malrond says?”The stranger gave a soft, dry chuckle.Still, no one replied to these questions. Wide eyed, they held their last pints and watched the shadows, the orange firelight of the great hearth playing across their features.“Nay. You would not believe my words for it is easier, and of greater comfort to believe… what you want to believe. And not what is truth.”Silence.Then Cormic dared a word or two. He laughed first to show he was interested in keeping it a bit friendly, or even perhaps guardedly friendly, which was the natural default of the Littles, but also to disagree. That was what the laugh was for. And the Little blacksmith who would, and should be, married one of these summers soonish, dared.“Then say truly, stranger. If'ee the wizard tells lies… then what be the truth of the great battle of the south? And the tower? And for that matter… the shadow?”Now this, for a Little, who might make out to be a timid people in the re-telling of this tale, if you can call it that though it has been suggested it's more of tragedy, it has been suggested that I have a tendency to make the Littles out to be bumkins, or even patsies. Simple folk. Timid and afraid of their own shadow.Nothing could be further from the truth. I assure you.True, they might be a bit close-minded. Or too ready to make with a song and a pie than mounted barbed steed and confront the souls of fearful adversaries… but they are plucky. You can say that for them. First off… they're dogged in their determination. Feuds, and polite ones at that, might last between clans of Littles for upwards of a hundred years. And every so often there's a bit of a wild streak in one or two of them.They call it, “goin a'wanderin'.”And Littles who've gone wandering have been known to get up to some rather brave deeds in desperate spots.Those that returned.But the children of men, and the elves who are older than most, refer to these types by other names, and none of them good.[NC3]  Reckless and fever-touched adventure seekers are most commonly used in polite company. Chasing down the rumors of the Ancients for lost piles of Dragon Hoard, or Barrow Geld.Pure fantasies that'll see you missing if you listen to the common wisdom dispensed between hall and home.So, while I might paint them as such… you do need to know for this part of the tale, that Littles are… actually, quite brave.Having said that, in the dense silence following Cormic's interrogation of the dark stranger sitting in the shadows of the old alcove, the younger Littles gathered about the Inn's Hearth that night, weren't of a mind to gather up their coats and walking sticks and head off into the night.But they would prefer if Fatty appeared with a little more cheese and perhaps one more round to keep out the mist when it was time to be heading.Still, for a moment if felt like meeting a ‘warewoof' might be preferable to the dangerous atmosphere brewing inside Fatty's as the stranger spoke his discomforting words.The stranger stood, left the old coins on the rough table, and came close to the fire. Standing among them for a good look. And now they could all seem him a'better.He was most definitely not elven, though the cloak and hood, and even the travel-worn gear said he must be of men. Northern Tribes at that. The features grim and rough, not like the elves that stopped by on their passings to the south. He was definitely not of that race.Where elves' faces were smooth and white like alabaster, fair even like summer peaches with eyes that sparkled blue, and most importantly at times jade or even the coveted emerald green, the stranger's eyes were coal black by the firelight of the inn in which they glittered.And his skin was dark from the sun. And weather-beaten and lined from days and nights out-of-doors.Some say there are ancient elven tribes from the days of Airë who carried that color. Seafarers they had become in the days when the elven fathers had reached for the distant coasts of strange and lost lands never known again.And whereas elven garb was beautiful, rich, and fine, even the warriors were oft finely adorned in their armors, this stranger's travel gear was rude and rough and made for the road. Something as like the forest men of the Eastern Mountains. Leathers and high hard muddy boots that had seen many a league and more. And of course, an old worn grey cloak, water stained and beaten by nights in which it must have served both as cover and bed.The only weapon he carried was a longsword in a plan yet cared for oiled leather scabbard. And there was nothing remarkable about this weapon though it seemed to have seen much use and wear in battle no doubt by its wrapping.And all those things were seen and noted by the chubby Littles who sat in the finest of Fatty's overstuffed leather chairs gathered around the cheery fire at the last of itself. But what drew their eyes was the ragged scar across his long and slender neck.A hangman's scar. Or an assassin's cut.Perhaps the reason why his voice was rough and little more than a whisper though it seemed to carry weight.Long dark hair fell across one eye. And under one arm, held tightly by a worn leather glove that didn't match the one on the other hand, was a bundle wrapped in grave shrouds. Old Ned Duggan would bet his life, in the retelling of the evening later, when things had gone all strange in the aftermath of the night's events, that the stranger was a barrow robber of some bad sort.But that was later.“Then say truly, stranger,” fiery young Cormic the Blacksmith offered. “If'ee the wizard lies… then what is the truth of the great battle of the south? Tell us now and perhaps Fatty will spot another round and the last of the wheel.”And now that the stranger had come to stand among them near the fire and explain his words, none of them were made too comfortable by this turn of events. In fact, Fatty did not move to pull a tap, or cut cheese from the wheel in the kitchen. The stranger's stillness and presence were mesmerizing in their silence and most wished they'd never heard what was said next, because whether they wanted to believe it or not, what was said next to them there that night in the inn, near the last of the night's hearth, changed everything.After that…Everything changed.Medusa and ‘Shadows in Sirith Osildor'Subscribe Now to hear the audio version of the chapters and get invited to the end of the month book club discussion via live VidChatCheck out some books by NickThe American Wasteland TrilogyThe Old Man and the WastelandThe Savage BoyThe Road is a RiverSoda Pop Soldier BooksSoda Pop SoldierPop Kult WarlordCTRL ALT RevoltGalaxy's EdgeForgotten Ruin SeriesThe Tragedy of the Strange Company SeriesStrange CompanyVoodoo WarfareThe End of the World as We Knew ItFight the Rooster This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit nickcole.substack.com/subscribe

Read the Previous Chapter hereChapter TwoA Tale in the DarkAfter the last of the hot scones were handed out, fresh from the ovens of Fatty, cups of sipping chocolate for the little'uns, boch of course for the olds, then the pipes were lit and hushes to be quiet administered, for the Telling of the Show was to begin. Malrond settled himself in a great tufted leather chair near the hearth, center stage within the main room, and for a long moment there was quiet. Then, with little to no fanfare he began at once.“I come none too late from the war in the south, my little friends…” began the old wizard. “To tell you the war that was coming, that we have felt in sky and stone, seen in omens and even bones… is over now. You may rest easy knowing this.”A hush deeper than the one that began the affair fell over the main room of the Last Friendly Inn as Malrond spoke this and all that could be heard in that solemn and stunning moment was the murmur-crackle and an occasional snap of the fire turning to grey ash within the grand hearth of the main room.The room was darker now. Only the struggling candles burned from behind Fatty McFarlane's perch at the end of the lovingly and oft-polished red oak bar and in the occasional sconce along the alcoves across the swollen room. Some later would remark that the dark seemed unnatural and was perhaps part of the showing. At the time this passed unnoticed, and the Littles collectively leaned forward at the beginning of the telling, willing themselves to miss nothing, knowing a great magic of the showing would soon begin as the wizard wove his quiet storytelling spell over the room, and them all in turn.The Littles, and others who were there that early spring night, in the back among the shadows, alone or keeping to their small traveling stranger clusters, all in the old pile of an inn were aware that war and death had been raging across the lands to the south around the great tower of Sirith Osildor itself and along the Black River that was the natural boundary for that southern region the Elves of Indolién referred to as The Undómë.The Twilight.Many travelers referred to those lost southern regions where the map seemed incomplete and even uncharted at times as… Ungondor.Lands of Cloud and Shadow.The quiet crowd in the normally merry old inn hovered over the old elven wizard's next words for surely there was more to this than what had been said already. Malrond took a deep draw from his long-stemmed clay pipe, held the smoke, his eyes watching them all, and then with a delicate movement of his old mouth sent the first smoke ring out and into the dark rafters above them all.“The crisis in the south… has been averted for now,” stated Malrond the Wise with a theatrical gravitas that bespoke a certain finality one must accept if the story were to go on.The Littles being great lovers of any travelling show that happened along the back roads agreed to the terms of the deal and accepted what the wizard had said with an acquiescent silence. Indicating old Malrond should go on with the rest of it, and already quick if you please.“The fell host of the Shadow Hordes has been turned back at the ancient Gates of Sirith Osildor itself. Just a few nights ago you may have seen lights of the terrible magics worked with much wroth in the crucial moments of that dire battle… just the other night in fact, a long night if you'll remember so, that is if there ever was one such as that one. A night in which those of us standing the watch against the coming shadow on the walls of the great tower guessed perhaps all was lost, and we had seen our last day. And even the last of all days to be seen by such as those who walk the Gentle Lands.”Yes, many of the Littles would later remark. The night had seeming restlessly long. There had been tossing and turning. Little'uns had nightmares and strange dreams that required attending and cold drinks of water to console. Some Littles even remarked that there had been the not unheard of, but not necessarily common, last meal of the several Littles generally consume per day.Second Creepies. A light comforting snack of catch as catch can from the larders to see out the last hours until dawn and Bacon.The wizard took a puff of his pipe, seemed to hold it for a moment as though wordlessly reciting a secret prayer, or a chant for good luck, good health, fair weather and a fast horse, and then finally let go with an almost melancholic exhale, sighing out the great weights that surely must rest on his narrow shoulders, the Littles assured themselves.Angelic blue smoke floated out from the wizard, its tendrils reaching among them, falling to the floor. Rising into rafters, seeking the shadows.The Littles breathed a sigh of relief and some even hoisted their mugs and took deeper draughts than unusual.This was, indeed, good news. The hordes of the Shadow defeated.“I was there…” announced the wizard to them all.No one had asked that. But in hindsight of the statement, it seemed the most natural of questions to be asked by ones not just seeking information but dying for its full reveal, and the tidbits and morsels must surely fall like so many crumbs of the Inn's famed Lavender Crumble Scones travelers from far and wide made detours just for. One of the younger little'uns, even more hot blooded and rash-tempered than quick with his fists Shane McFie, suddenly spoke from the dark floor where those of that age and stripe were gathered betwixt the main body and the old mage telling the show of what had happened there to the far and misty south.And even as this young one spoke up, rudely interrupting the proceeding with something about the elves and their swords, Malrond's continued smoke wafted through the room and over them all. Everywhere there were thin smoking tendrils like clever little garden snakes there in the stuffy atmosphere above the curly-haired Little heads who stared in rapture toward the wizard at the hearth, half lit by the simmering fire. Half in shadow by the darkness of the room.His face looked old now, they would all agree. Older than the last time they'd seen him come this way.And how long ago was that, some wondered.Time's a funny thing, answered others.Careworn and weather-beaten by many years on the road was the cause agreed on by all in the conversations and dissections that followed the days of the Showing of the Tell. As though some greater work than had been guessed at, was behind the old elf now. Though Malrond was clearly Andaari, noted by the long pointed ears, he seemed the opposite of that fair and noble race with their smooth features and almost almond eyes. Where he aged, they, other elves, did not. Where the bright sun did not touch them, it had carved deep lines in Malrond's long face, and brought bags to be under his baleful dark watching eyes. Time had bent the long nose that stared down upon them. Some old scar left barely visible ran down beneath one large eye. His eyes, they were dark. Dark like burning coals where the average Andaarian Elf tended toward blue and blue green eyes, and in this too he was different than those of his kind. And of course, his eyes were not like the royal green, burning like living fire in a fantastic jewel beyond price, reserved for those of the House of Eäron. Those Ancient Wayfaring Lords and founders of fair Indolién by the Sea. To have seen such eyes of the royal line, for a Little, even for a moment once in a lifetime, would have been considered a blessing to be noted and measured. A life event much talked about over field and farm and festival across the long years of the Littles which at best reached one hundred and thirty-seven. And even so special as to be noted when death came as it had been for Old Ori Farbanks, the former Mayor of Sheepshead who passed just five years back.Even the elves, merchants who seemed something more, had come out for that burying, staying just the day, and gone with the night and mist from off the coast.But those royal greens of the line of Eäron were not the eyes of Malrond the Wise. His were dark and glittering with tales, mischief, and yes jokes or at least funny stories for the most part. Sometimes they were sad and staring, seeing things only imagined when no one was watching him. Which was a mistake when in the company of Littles. Littles may be many things, silly, practical, laughing much, stuck in their ways constantly, angry about nothing just for the sake of it, faithful unto death, quiet like thieves when they meant to be, and occasionally mad, Littles were always watching. It was their nature to do so.The Littles knew the old elf as Malrond the Wise. But they also knew he was known by many names in other quarters even beyond the lands of Elves. Greystaff by the rock dwarves for the gnarled old ironwood he carried wherever he went about on his travels. Whisperer Tallhat by the strange and silent Children of Men far to the north. Gothminion some said in the ancient Elvish, older than Indarri, that was all but forgotten these days by most. But that was an unconfirmed [NC1] rumor that had only been heard and handed about and it seemed a strange one, a strange name for one such as he. And there were many other names suspected, and even hinted at.But as far as the Littles were concerned, Malrond was friendly when you thought about him and there was always a certain much needed excitement when he came about with his tales and spells and good talk.He remembered your business though you might not talk with him for a year, or even five in a stretch of seasons. He knew what you were about and what mattered to you and could speak and question at length regarding your affairs. And of course, he always came around at Harvest, and when there was great news afoot in the lands. The things said during his visits would keep the villages and hamlets of the Littles going for weeks at least.Malrond continued as the fire murmured and the smoke drifted heavy from his pipe though he had not puffed it and instead, wove it about with his long and crooked fingers, sparkling with many strange runic rings, and one… one that was uncommonly beautiful.“The hordes came out of the Ash south of the river… beyond the Forgotten Districts where much lies in ruin now, but those great wrecks still can be seen from the heights of the Sirith Osildor itself…”“Wot is the Ash?” some other impious young Little'un asked from the floor where the barefoot urchins had gathered with mugs of then[NC2]  warm chocolate. The older Littles erupted with a hiss of shushes and explosions regarding the impetuousness of youth, the abundance of bad parenting, and common lack of manners these days when you took count and measure of the state of affairs and all.A look crossed the old wizard's face at this second interruption. Like some flashing brief summer storm coming across the waters when you liked it least. This was because Malrond did not like being interrupted when he was on about something. That was clear. But the look was queerly gone as soon as it had come and the wizard obliged the question from the floor, smiling briefly as he did so.Some would say… it was not a warm smile. But that may have been due to the subject matter. The Southern Waystes where the map was shadowy, and things left botheringly unsaid.“The Ash is a low and broken land, burnt by great and terrible magics from the days of Inthol the Bright. But that was long ago when great monsters [NC3] heaved about the land and caused much trouble. Now the silent place is little but wretched blight where the low shadow hordes hunker, avoiding the light when they can, preferring to move with the night and the moon to seek their mischiefs and murders. Goblin tribes coming out to raid and strike fear into the hearts of good people everywhere if they can violate the waters of the River and the Watch at the Tower. My order has long kept an eye on these lands, and it was a year ago this time we first heard the war drums rumbling from the deep ruin there even though we dared not tread that far south into the southern Waystes often. Rumors and tales that a new war leader, Khahuz Ulghûl of the Black Feather Orcs, had come to power over that land and was looking to make trouble farther north for his sleeping master. Binding the boiling tribes beyond the river itself into their ancient hordes, this new foe called for great war against our peoples and dear Indolién itself if such folly can be imagined.”Now this was shocking, and the Littles gasped in horror at thought of what the wizard had just said. Orcs attacking Indolién.That would be the very definition of dark times indeed.For a long moment old Malrond mused over some matter just to himself, stoking his pipe with short breaths, smoothing his long grey beard with a long and gnarled old hand.Then he began once again, oblivious that the Littles had exercised so much patience during this interminable pause and not just interrupted into a chaotic chorus of questions hurled like summer ‘maters when there's too many to be had for anyone with sense.“Long did the council work to forestall Khahuz Ulghûl's efforts but it was soon clear enough what the black fiends' [NC4] intentions were. The tribes were coming north across the Black River come Unqualë or high water. It was clear their desire was to smash into the Sirith Osildor itself. If they were successful, then Indolién's southern port of trade toward the Lost Lands would be gone and he[NC5]  who is not to be spoken of would grow even greater still in power as he slumbers. To lose the Tower would have been a mighty blow against the Emerald Throne itself, and, the doom of us all.”Unqualë or High Water is a common expression among the Littles. Unqualë is an ancient elven word for an agonizing death. Malrond's usage was in keeping with the Littles' usage of it as a flooded farm was just about as bad as an agonizing death to a Little. They could not abide waste unless it was August ‘maters. By that time, they were giving them away, making midnight raids to deposit bushels of them on other neighbors' steads, or ambushing small bands of rogue boys to ward them off the melons the rascals would cut the hearts out of to eat in the heat of the day, or the cool of the misty late nights when they went roving before it was time to marry and settle.Seeking adventures to be had. Knowing the time for such things was short.The Littles drew in a deep breath and all at once began to babble in fear as the wizard paused and surveyed the impact of his words on their terror-struck faces at the fact the Gentle Lands were in jeopardy.“Was this known?”“How did this happen?”“We were almost done fer!”And it was at this fearful moment, the Showing of the Tell… truly began.Suddenly and much to their amazement, above their curly heads there in the smoke hanging amid the rafters with the hams and other lanterns, drifting charcoal images of some vast horde of foul orcs and lesser scheming goblins could be seen marching through the mists the smoke of Malrond's pipe had created. Just barely as some light show of travelling players working in puppetry might, but this in an otherworldly ash, charcoal, and blackest dust, began to show the Littles and those in the inn that night, the ferocious anger as Orc and Gob carried torch and shield forward, silently chanting their marching songs and war cries. Axes and swords forward in battle, ready for mayhem and slaughter.There were other beasts of the nether, dark among their host as shown in the image of darkness and smoke up there, the candlelight making it all seem more real, more alive. Terrible troll lords with demonic eyes and savage strength, dark beings of such wrath and terror marching above that Littles, some and not a few, hid their faces. The troll's fiery glaring eyes alight with mischief and deviltry.[NC6]  Ancient wraiths too, curst armored knights of the Old Age come back to slay once more, leading divisions of drum-beating, horn-blowing, snarling orcs as large as any savage north man and more. Powerfully built and wielding great cruel tree-cutting axes, or wide-bladed swords whose very metal seemed dirty and corrupted in evil. Broad and curved like the Corsairs of Ambar who sail far south beyond the Lost Lands into areas of myth and spice and tales beyond belief, or so some say.The overwhelmed Littles gawped in amazement at the sudden imagery forming and marching over their heads in the Inn's upper reaches of the main room. Muttering darkly, or even angrily at times, among themselves, for Littles hated orcs with a passion as they were the enemy of all growing, thriving things. Some averted their eyes, turning toward their simple prayers, mumbling words as if to sustain themselves in a swoon brought on by the relentless host above. In the smoke of the shadow show, the ghostly nether blue pipe rings of Malrond turned to a sea of black arrows filling the skies of the battle the shadow host was marching out to. Rising like some unclean squall of crows come from out of the east to pick the late summer fields clean of corn and ‘maters, as the Littles called tomatoes.An unlucky thing and curse if there ever was one.Then, as the Littles gasped in horror, the shadow arrows were falling now. Falling like flaming stars suddenly alight from the heavens above.But these arrows were not alight with flame, but surely with witch-magic. The flames were necrotic purple in ghost-light, seething and smoking as they fell through the rings of Malrond's smoke show and almost seemed to come down on the Littles themselves right there on the floor of the inn.Children, the little'uns, cried out or screamed with such sudden terror that the tiny, round Little Mothers threw themselves and their shawls over the children as if that could protect them from the storm of deadly flights falling and exploding among them. The Little farmers stood quickly as though hoping to stand between their young and the strike and the covering mothers. Other younger Littles like Shane McFie and those in his band, roared in anger, hoisting their mugs like small swords or clubs, and made ready to answer any violence in kind.In an instant the shadow arrows rained down on the mighty broken tower of Sirith Osildor itself, rising in image among the coals and torched logs of the hearth near the murmuring wizard. The Littles saw some of the smoke arrows, things of figment surely, smash into the floor of the inn after they'd fallen from the rafters, exploding on Fatty McFarlane's polished boards like wraiths of smoke and nightmare that never were. But by then the Littles were staring into the images within the hearth conjured by the wizard and his pipe for they were far more fascinating and as though viewing the living thing itself with one's own eyes.It was… mesmerizing.Few to none had ever seen the Tower. Sirith Osildor itself. An ancient place buried deep in the lore of the Andaar and some say… even far older into the Old Ages of long ago when things were different. Gleaming elven defenders were struck and fell from the high stone ramparts and crumbling parapets into the thronging masses of shadow invaders even now approaching the lower battlements with unquenchable flame and relentless spear. Around the main room of the inn, the thousand fires of the shadowy host seemed alive and more real than the candles that burned from their recesses. Shadow of imposing troll and goblin sneak marched like ghosts through the room toward the tower itself and if one could hear past the gasps and screams of the Littles, one might it seemed, hear terrible drums and ululating horns of war.The hellish hearth of the inn, a place of gathering and tales listened to and told of, cast its steady orange glow along one side of the old wizard's face, making him seem something stronger, stranger, older.Murmuring as though in a dream, the wizard continued his telling.[NC7] Within the hearth the flames leapt, the grey logs almost ash turning suddenly black, and a battle in minute detail broke out along the fabled Ivory Causeway within the consuming logs. The old, fabled road that once made itself over the Black River and into the districts of Sirith Osildor. The shadow of the host spread like a rot across summer's best fruits as they raced for the tower through the flames and the images revealed along the burning wood. Soon they were at the very gates of the old fortress that guarded the good lands and the Littles crowded, not close, but tippy toed, and pressed to see what the wizard was showing them with the hearth.The hoary face of a wraith, garbed in ancient almost translucent armor, appeared in a sudden burst of flames within the fire, and roared wordlessly in a sudden snap of a log and spray of flames, the thing's breath a hiss as the dead thing waved a runed sword, dented and old, forward, leading more of the shadow host into battle against the Tower. The orcs, tiny scrambling ashen figures threw themselves onto the tower walls, working their ashen bows and shooting down the defenders above with fiery arrows as they crawled like a pestilence among mighty battlements of Sirith Osildor.The crowd of Littles and others within the inn recoiled in horror at this spectacle of what seemed certain to be the sack of the mighty southern tower that defended the gateway to the Gentle Lands. Revealed within the images of the hearth and its flames were horrors and terrors never contemplated. Some began to whimper and cry, and parents who had brought their children, expecting some great wonder or reward from the travelling wizard, felt suddenly terrible at having arrived with their little'uns to such a tragedy witnessed in flame, fire, smoke, and shadow.The wizard, silent, and musing his beard and pipe[NC8] , watched them all as they remained helpless to tear their eyes away from what he was showing them in the telling.Then… he spoke. His voice old and creaking, and yet, something more. Words, some would say later, the words of Malrond were like the only things that existed in that moment.But that was what some said, and others said nothing on the subject.“All was lost in those first moments of the battle,” began Malrond once again and paused with such a sense of weight he seemed to have nothing more to add. That the loss of the defenders, the tower, and the certain arrival of the Shadow in the Gentle Lands was imminent. As though each Little should fly home at this very moment to their stead and take to the hills and mountains in the east with haste and everything on their back if only to save their lives right now.“But then came Adoras himself, Champion of the Emerald Throne, riding the field of battle to the aid of the defenders of Sirith Osildor. Bringing with him a host of the Elven Horse just in time out of the North Lands where they had been rumored to be but mere months ago. And you may think this is where everything will be alright and the day, or rather night, saved. But my Little friends, this was where the battle truly became its most terrible, and defeat was as close as it would come to snuffing out the light of us all had the tides not turned.”Silence fell over the whole inn.“At dawn, just when all seemed lost, like a bright shining scythe sweeping the late harvest of wheat, Adoras and the Horse came out of the east, crossing into the outskirts of southern Osildor and sweeping into the armies of the Shadow with the sun at their backs. Making their attack between the gate and the bridge. Now… the battle was begun in full and both forces descended into the madness of battle as it was joined.”Above their heads, the Littles and those in the inn gaped in amazement as the images of the Elven Horses, riders in armor shining like bright death itself, appeared with the weak grey dawn light and swept into the wide districts of that southern city beyond the tower. Districts buried under the forces of the shadow. Instantly great fights were begun within the streets. Orc and goblin carrying fire and spear were driven off the face of the mighty tower and slain as they fled back for the dark waters of the river and shadows of the south.“Adoras' wrath was indeed terrible,” Malrond stated solemnly. “The Champion of the Emerald Throne, true and faithful as he is known to be, wrought much wrath and destruction as his final charge carried straight into the shadow army's line holding near the bridge. Even the trolls and wraiths who make their homes among the Broken Rock along the Forgotten Coast were carried away like so much flotsam in the spring flood that was Adoras' triumph on the field that day I have just come from.”Malrond made some gesture, suddenly with a deft movement tossing his drink into the fire, and the flames within the hearth exploded, sending showers of sparks and smoke rising into the inn. Within this choking miasma, a mighty demon of a troll rose up among the press of goblins in their leathers with bloody red silks and black masks of that command to stand against the charge. With their misshapen and ugly heads, twisted green creatures fled as the beautiful stallions and shining riders of the Horse came at them and the terrible rampaging troll. This foe, a tall and lean thing with long gangly arms ending in great dirty claws, turned to fight back the charge with the aid of an antique axe from the elder ages carried over one lumpen shoulder. The terrible scythe dripped with inky blood, notched and smoking along the charcoal blade. The ghost image of the troll's eyes were desperate but still malevolent enough, as a winged helmed elven warrior atop a white steed, the perfection of the fabled Elven Horse of Indolién, swooped in with bright and shining spear, a sword on the belt, to do single combat in the street with the abomination of the troll.This was a great spectacle to those gathered in the Inn for it surely seemed the valiant warrior was outmatched from the first by the towering height of the foe and the ferocity of its terrible rage. The bloody troll moved fast and swept the scythe of his vicious axe into the breast of the incoming mount of the rider, but the mount reared and the wounded horse, a beautiful and noble creature within the image of smoke in the Inn, cried out in sudden indignation and terror as it tried to back away, throwing its great hooves forward to attack the looming horror. In the same instant, the elven warrior fired his spear forward in a savage strike as though it was the merest shaft from off the meanest bow fired at ease. Except the power and speed with which it flew from the rider's powerful arm told that the blow was something far more potent than at first expected. Something from the tales of the Great Bow of Aeostir the Hunter himself.An unbelievable second later the spear landed amid the troll's gaunt chest, planting itself with all the stern refusal of something that could never be shaken or moved again. No mortal thing would have survived its piercing. But the spear's appearance within its body only seemed to outrage the beast even more. The troll dragged its axe over its devil's head, intending to smite the dying horse and warrior as once again both horse and rider went down in the street near the tower. But the elf was as all elves are, quick and agile, spritely in battle. Literally walking off his dying and noble mount, surging suddenly forward into the close quarters fray with the evil troll, the warrior drew his blade for a swift stroke.The shining warrior delivered the victorious slash against the guts of the troll with his quickly drawn blade. Green blood and pestilent ichor splashed out onto the wet stones of the ravaged street and the elf was at once wielding the blade against his foe again and again in angry fury. Striking wounds that would never heal for such is the fabled metal of the elven smiths of Indolién as everyone knows.They do not heal.In the smoke and fading ash within the hearth images, the Littles stared in amazement and horror at the battle revealed just for them as more of Malrond's smoke rings plied the airs among them yet again.“But the enemy was not finished yet,” crooned the wizard from the asides. “Within the hour of Adoras' great victory, the enemy played their last tricky hand, and a new foe was come to put paid to the matter…”The ground around the warrior began to shake all at once as more of Malrond's blue smoke seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once across the Inn. For some, and they would discuss this later over all the meals the next day between Bacon and Creepies, it was hard to say whether you were in the Inn, or at the battle itself.“Troll and elf strove on in deadly battle even as the goblin horde streamed past in full pell mell retreat, certain the battle for the Tower was truly lost to them now, their captains dead. The view within the smoke about them all changed to a circling raven's eye view of the fields beneath the heights of the ancient tower itself. From those heights, those within the inn could see the individual melees taking place on the narrow and twisting streets below in and among the bright and glittering merchants' houses who made their homes there along the southern edges. It was amazing to witness and again, something much discussed over cold draghts in the afternoon and nuts and cheese before supper. One could see the masses of both sides, Shadow and Elven Horse, colliding into one another at no less than three points beyond the tower.“Within the tower, under the command of that fabled general who all the Gentle Lands trusted to never give up the southern watch, bowmen began to return fire and shoot down into the streets at the goblins and raging trolls to be found and targeted there for effective fire.Surely all was not lost as day became real and of course the news must be most wonderful, thought every watching Little as they paid witness to the images of smoke and magic the wizard had manifested for their knowing right there in the Inn.Then a great shadow cast itself across the battle and over every warrior on all sides. Even the Inn itself. Some looked around as though to see some great thing passing overhead through the rafters and curing meats there. The shadow come from the south was like some insect plague swarming a crust of cast bread. Warriors of both sides gazed skyward suddenly into the morning grey light to see the coming of the great dragon to the battle at Sirith Osildor.“Out of the ancient mists of time the enemy had found our oldest of foes…” spoke the wizard softly, almost reverently. “An ancient drake from the brood of Gathmar herself. In an instant the dragon fell among the warriors under Adoras and did much damage with tooth and claw, choking smoke and black fire, as dragons are wont to do.”Within the smoke of the images swallowing everyone within the Inn, the dragon settled into the thick of the battle before the old Port Gate on the west of the Citadel itself. Bright armored warriors of the Elven Horse and their mounts were scattered as the dragon swept its terrible claws across them all, sending shattered armor and broken weapons in shadowy smoke across the destruction of the orcs, even themselves fleeing from the terror of the beast. All was chaos and terror among those who'd fought for that street and not given an inch in the hours of deepest night and coming dawn that marked the battle.“It was into this destruction and impending peril and loss that Adoras rode Telemnar against the dragon.”If this was true, if the images the wizard conjured within the smoke were to be believed, then this was the stuff of tales and song and the Littles were seeing it here, above and among them. The mightiest of the elven scions of the Emerald Throne rode into the battle where it was thickest, as orcs, goblins, and even the troll rallied to protect the dragon's flanks even though they were clearly in stark terror of the terrible and mighty thing at their sides. It was here, cutting and slaying, Adoras drove impossibly forward and struck a mighty blow against the dragon with his fabled sword Norsus.“Long was this contest fought,” intoned Malrond solemnly as though in some trance. The smoke dragon reared high into the sky of the rafters and hams in the Inn's darker recesses, towering over the mighty houses that had been broken and sundered in that noble district of Sirith Osildor, breathing green fire across the foes confronting it.“The shields of Adoras' vanguard held and once more the elven Horse charged into the dragon, wounding the wyrm sorely as the fight grew desperate. But…” spoke Malrond softly. “…Twas not without cost.“All those who stood against the dragon save Adoras himself were felled by the piercing of the dragon's fangs, the rending of its claws, and great buffets from off its mighty wings.“Elves of greatness and renown fell in vain against its strength. The onslaught of the raging termagant was so awful even orcs and goblins were too afeared to draw near the wrath of its ancient evil, and instead withdrew into the wreckage and ruin to await the outcome of the contest between the champion and the dragon beneath the great tower.“But Adoras would not relent though sorely wounded himself,” continued Malron. “And so at the last he raised his mighty sword and struck the dragon in its black heart, bringing the great beast down in sudden thunder and blood all at once.”Within the Inn the image seen was incredible. All were filled with fear and wonder in the same instant. Light exploded, shadows reigned, and all that was seen was the silhouetted image of dragon and elf prince against the color of flame and ruin in the background. The mighty elf seemed slain to them and then, as if in final spite, he lashed out with the bite of the blade Norsus and found home, striking down and into the great and ancient wyrm.Little ‘un, lone traveling man, sand elf, and those others of the Littles who found themselves in the Inn that night, rejoiced and gasped in horror at the mighty spectacle of the sight of the slaying of the dragon.Indeed, it was a mighty thing to behold. A thing that made the tales of the Lost Ages seem trifles of the here, and the now. That what had just been witnessed was even something mightier and greater than any ever told round hearth or fire, or along the waysides where one passed nights with such wild fables and smoke.The inn erupted as the dragon heaved its last and died, collapsing into the river.And over this roar the voice of Malrond thundered for them all to hear once gain.“The Shadow Host was broken and driven back beyond the river!” cried the old wizard to them all. “Adoras triumphed over foe and fiend and in the name of the Emerald Throne for the cause is just, and it is right. The Gentle Lands, and all other homes that lie under the Sway of Indolién… are safe once more.”He paused as the smoke of the showing of the tell faded like dreams barely remembered… and for a moment the entire Inn was in darkness and not even the faintest glow of the hearth could be seen in its black emptiness.There were just the fading whispers of the wizard.Then Malrond added, “For now.”Suddenly the Littles were swarming the broad oaken bar of Fatty and demanding frothy pints of the finest, celebrating the victory of Adoras himself and at the same moment recounting what they had just seen as though they and they only had been there amid the smoke and flame of the battle and its recounting needed immediately.Those not engaged in such unmannerly drinking were swarming the legs of the wizard asking for more and other details, and to show them all once again the things of wonder they had seen within Malrond's smoke and showing.Malrond, who was known to be kind, and to have a special place within his heart for the Littles of the Gentle Lands, stayed for a while more, telling them more of how Adoras had put sword to the fell host and pursued them back to their caves and barrows beyond the river, and even to the very ruins of the Fallen Kingdom of Amnanor of the Old Age. A place of strange spirits many who went there never returned from. Malrond reminded the clustering Little farmers who seemed less inclined to wait for the next succulent detail that fell from the lips of the wizard, that all was safe now and some of the darker details were best left unsaid if one valued sleep. And there were sleepy-eyed little'uns about that needed carrying back to their beds.“Ave yer been there, Malrond?” asked one.“Tis true that time's gone daft beyond the Black Gate?” asked another.“Didja see any of the warewoofs of Lord Suth?”Littles are always going on and on about werewolves from the south and are as likely to blame the myth of such creatures for any of their ills more than anything else they can quite name.“I did accompany Adoras and the Bright Fist, his personal guard, into the south and there we fought at the very foundations of the Doom Gate, the Manarandon itself, forcing them to draw it closed once more and defend the unnamed one within. Then we turned back for needs must. Adoras is now to appear before the throne but bid me come and bring you this great news.”“Will'ee stay Malrond?”“Say more and we shall carry on and sing songs to dawn in celebration of the evil that almost befell our little farms and has been smashed now!”But Malrond would not stay among them long. There were other communities and holdings within the Gentle Lands that knew him by other names and to these he told the Littles he must depart at once to and show the telling of once again.Soon it was time for Malrond to be off, so with much sorrow, and not a few tears from the gathering Littles, Malrond made the old door of the aged inn and was gone just like that, off into the misty night as strangely as he'd appeared among them that morning.Outside the inn all was quiet dark, and misty night. A few stood with pipes, waving farewell to the tall striding figure in the night, watching as the mist took him, and soon he was unseen once more.Subscribe Now and get the Audio version of this and so much more… This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit nickcole.substack.com/subscribe

Welcome back to the 306 Fantasy Football Podcast.   In episode #51, we welcome back 3 of the 4 boys from the NC2 Podcast, Upton, Emmitt and Nolan. Looking for redemption, we play another round of Fantasy Feud. Last year the 306 boys came in clutch with a last second win, but NC2 boys are prepared for a run. We needed to add some extra talent to our roster so we brought back Dwayne Gareau and we invited first time guest Josh Lilly.   We play 3 rounds worth of questions and then each team will partake in a fast money round. If we are tied at the end, we are prepared with a tie breaking question. Lots of football, and fantasy talk, so you will not want to miss this one!   Finally, we would like to thank our major sponsor of the season, 22Fresh! In partnership with them, we have gone live with our promo-code 306FFB15. Use the code to help save yourself 15% off your next purchase at 22Fresh. Check them out at https://store.22fresh.com/   Thank you for listening, and stay tuned for episode 52! Take care everyone!

May 9, 2022 Rockingham County Board Of Education Meeting(Rockingham County, NC) - Audio of the May 9, 2022 meeting of the Rockingham County Board of Education. The meeting was held at the Rockingham County Schools Central Office.AGENDA1. Call to Order1.01 Roll Call2. Announcements2.01 The Work Session is scheduled at 12:00 noon for Wednesday, May 25, 2022 at the Central Elementary School located at 435 Stadium Drive, Eden, NC.2.02 The next Board Meeting is scheduled for Monday, June 13, 2022 at 6:00 p.m. at Central Administrative Offices at 511 Harrington Highway, Eden, NC2.03 The Board announces the RCS 2022 Employee Retirement Banquet is scheduled to be held Tuesday, May 24, 2022 at the Wright Memorial Event Center located at 184 Slaydon Road, Eden. The banquet begins at 6:00 p.m.3. Moment of Prayer3.01 Pastor Peter Dodge from Reidsville Alliance Church, Reidsville NC4. Pledge of Allegiance / Agenda Approval / Service Recognition for Deputy Woodall / Recognition for All County Arts Superintendent's Choice Award4.01 Pledge of Allegiance4.02 Approval of Agenda4.03 Recognition of Deputy Shane Woodall -- Twenty Years Service Plaque from the Board of Education4.04 Recognition of All County Art Superintendent's Choice Award - Dr. Shotwell5. Public Comments / Board Comments5.01 Public Comments - At this time the board will hear public comments5.02 Board Comments6. Consent Agenda6.01 Consent Approval - Personnel Consent Items: Bus Drivers, Bus Monitors, SACC, Child Nutrition, Teacher Substitute Lists and Head Start Substitute List for 2021-20226.02 Consent Approval - Gifts, Grants and Donations - Ms. Annie Ellis6.03 Consent Approval - Head Start Program Monthly Budget Update - Ms. Annie Ellis6.04 Consent Approval - School Accident Insurance and Athletic Insurance Coverage - Ms. Annie Ellis6.05 Consent Approval - Purchase of Equipment, Materials and Supplies Exceeding $75,000 (Board Policy 6430) - Ms. Annie Ellis6.06 Consent Approval - Renewal of Video Agreement for 2022-2023 with Roy Sawyers (D.B.A. RCENO)6.07 Consent Approval - Adoption of Board Policies - Dr. Cindy Corcoran6.08 Consent Approval - Meeting Minutes for Board Approval - Open Session Board Minutes April 18, 2022 regular board meeting as presented.7. Action Items7.01 Approval - Approval of Partnerships / Contracts with Rockingham County Schools Exceptional Children's Department and Behavioral Health Department - Dr. Stephanie Ellis / Dr. Pam Watkins7.02 Approval - Move the Rising South End Fifth Grade to Reidsville Middle for 2022-2023 - Dr. Charles Perkins7.03 Approval - Moss Street Center Wing-Classrooms and Library Roof Replacement Bid Tabulation - Dr. Sonja Parks7.04 Approval - Old Bethany Disposition of Surplus Property - Dr. Sonja Parks7.05 Approval - Old Bethany Facility Options - Dr. Sonja Parks7.06 Approval - Transportation Disposition of Surplus Property - Dr. Sonja Parks7.07 Approval - Proposed AIG Plan for 2022-2025 - Ms. Nancy Towler7.08 Approval - PRC 071 / PRC 062 - Use Local Funding for Bonus for Pre-K Teachers - Ms. Annie Ellis7.09 Approval - Budget Amendments - Ms. Annie Ellis7.10 Board Chair Announcements - Ms. Kimberly McMichael8. Closed Session9. Open Session9.01 Personnel Report - Approval of Personnel Actions9.02 Probationary Career Teacher Lists 2022-20239.03 Administrator Contracts10. Adjournment10.01 Motion to adjourn# # #

April 18, 2022 Rockingham County Board Of Education Meeting(Rockingham County, NC) - Audio of the April 18, 2022 meeting of the Rockingham County Board of Education. The meeting was held at the Rockingham County Schools Central Office.AGENDA1. Call to Order1.01 Roll Call2. Announcements2.01 The next Board Meeting is scheduled for Monday, May 9, 2022 at 6:00 p.m. at Central Administrative Offices at 511 Harrington Highway, Eden, NC2.02 There is no Work Session scheduled in April. The May Work Session is scheduled at 12:00 noon for Monday, May 23, 2022 at the Central Elementary School Gymnasium located at 435 Stadium Drive, Eden. NC.2.03 The Board announced the RCS 2022 Employee Retirement Banquet is scheduled for Tuesday, May 24, 2022 at the Wright Memorial Event Center located at 184 Slaydon Road, Eden. The banquet begins at 6:00 p.m.3. Moment of Prayer3.01 Pastor William Hairston - Shiloh Missionary Baptist Church, Reidsville, NC4. Pledge of Allegiance4.01 Pledge of Allegiance4.02 Approval of Agenda5. Public Comments / Board Comments5.01 Public Comments - At this time the board will hear public comments5.02 Board Comments6. Consent Agenda6.01 Consent Approval - Personnel Consent Items: Bus Drivers, Bus Monitors, SACC, Child Nutrition, Teacher Substitute Lists and Head Start Substitute List for 2021-20226.02 Consent Approval - Gifts, Grants and Donations - Ms. Annie Ellis6.03 Consent Approval - Head Start Program Monthly Update - Ms. Annie Ellis6.04 Consent Approval - Auditor Contract Renewal - Ms. Annie Ellis6.05 Consent Approval - Purchase of Equipment, Materials and Supplies Exceeding $75,000 (Board Policy 6430) - Ms. Annie Ellis6.06 Consent Approval - Adoption of Board Policies - Dr. Cindy Corcoran6.07 Approval - Reidsville High School 900 Building Roof Bid Tabulation - Dr. Sonja Parks6.08 Approval - Reidsville High School Main Building Roof Bid Tabulation - Dr. Sonja Parks6.09 Approval - Restricted Sales Tax Request - Dr. Sonja Parks6.10 Approval - Contract Amendment to the Design and Preconstruction Services Agreement with Johnson Controls Incorporated to order Cooling Tower for McMichael6.11 Consent Approval - Meeting Minutes for Board Approval - Open Session Board Minutes March 14, 2022 and March 28, 2022 Work Session Minutes as presented.7. Action Items7.01 Approval - Proposed RCS Request Budget for 2022-2023 - Ms. Annie Ellis7.02 Approval - Increase in the Fee-for-Service Cost for RCS Preschool Program 2022-23 - Dr. Cindy Corcoran7.03 Approval - Old Bethany Gym Roof Bid Tabulation - Dr. Sonja Parks7.04 Approval - Morehead High School Tennis Court Bid Proposal - Dr. Sonja Parks7.05 South End School Marketing Plan for Rising Fifth Graders to Reidsville Middle School - Dr. Charles Perkins / Mr. Adam Powell / Dr. Sonja Parks / Dr. Cindy Corcoran7.06 Approval - Budget Amendments - Ms. Annie Ellis7.07 Approval - PRC 071 Supplemental Funds for Teacher Compensation - Ms. Annie Ellis7.08 Approval - PRC 062 Small County and Low Wealth Signing Bonus for Teachers - Ms. Annie Ellis7.09 Board Chair Announcement - Ms. Kimberly McMichael8. Closed Session9. Open Session9.01 Personnel Report - Approval of Personnel Actions10. Adjournment10.01 Motion to adjourn# # #

January 10, 2022 Rockingham County Board Of Education Meeting(Rockingham County, NC) - Audio of the January 10, 2022 meeting of the Rockingham County Board of Education. The meeting was held at the Rockingham County Schools Central Office.AGENDA1. Call to Order1.01 Roll Call2. Announcements2.01 The Work Session is scheduled at 6:00 p.m. for Monday, January 24, 2022 at the Central Administrative Offices, 511 Harrington Highway, Eden, NC2.02 The next Board Meeting is scheduled for Monday, February 14, 2022 at 6:00 p.m. at Central Administrative Offices at 511 Harrington Highway, Eden, NC3. Moment of Prayer3.01 Rev. Joe Tarpley from Main Street United Methodist Church, Reidsville, NC4. Pledge of Allegiance4.01 Pledge of Allegiance4.02 Approval of Agenda5. Public Comments / Board Comments5.01 Public Comments - At this time the board will hear public comments5.02 Board Comments6. Consent Agenda6.01 Consent Approval - Personnel Consent Items: Bus Drivers, Bus Monitors, SACC, Child Nutrition, Teacher Substitute Lists and Head Start Substitute List for 2021-20226.02 Consent Approval - Gifts, Grants and Donations - Ms. Annie Ellis6.03 Consent Approval - Adoption of Board Policies and Policies on First Reading - Dr. Cindy Corcoran6.04 Consent Approval - Meeting Minutes for Board Approval - Open Session Board Minutes December 13, 2021 regular board meeting as presented.7. Action Items7.01 Approval - Budget Amendments - Ms. Annie Ellis7.02 Approval - 2022-2023 Traditional, Year Round and Early College School Calendars - Dr. Charles Perkins7.03 Approval - Review Face Masks Policy Per Session Law Requirement - Dr. Stephanie Ellis / Dr. Shotwell7.04 Approval - North Carolina School Board Association (NCSBA) Superintendent Search Initial Documents8. Reports / Discussion Items8.01 Head Start Program Update - Dr. Cindy Corcoran / Ms. Felicia Jumper / Ms. Annie Ellis8.02 2022-2023 Budget Calendar - Ms. Annie Ellis8.03 Board Chair Announcements - Ms. Kimberly McMichael, Board Chair9. Closed Session10. Open Session10.01 Personnel Report - Approval of Personnel Actions11. Adjournment11.01 Motion to adjourn# # #

Episode 38: Be sure to catch this week's show featuring the one and only Pat Gallagher. Listen in for discussions on old teachers, river rats, dogs named Rambo, fast motorcycles, secret fights, flaming geysers, marriage proposals, shooting guns, building bridges, and so much more! #Bridges #WSU #Podcast0:00 - Intro (Lee Michaels)1:29 - Welcome Pat Gallagher / Raleigh, NC2:41 - Family Update3:06 - Last Encounter 4:36 - Dick Scobee Elementary / Teachers13:20 - Hanging Out in 199014:27 - River Rats17:09 - Music / Playing Instruments20:21 - Stand By Me / Dead Body22:32 - Finding Cheap Entertainment26:01 - Cool Little Brothers27:55 - Rambo30:16 - Parks Department34:32 - Bridges / WSU37:11 - Meeting Wife / Proposal41:13 - Civil Engineering 42:19 - All Brawn, No Brain47:16 - Time Capsules / Rock Tape48:34 - Starting Career / WSDOT55:00 - Favorite & Famous Bridges1:00:02 - Accomplishments / LinkedIn1:00:40 - Midlife Crisis / Marriage1:05:31 - Relocating / Weather1:08:17 - Motorcycles & Guns1:10:45 - Secret Fight w/ Andy Matlock1:12:15 - 911 House / Neely Mansion1:13:17 - Flaming Geyser State Park1:15:33 - Dodge Rampage / Car Accident1:17:00 - Revenge of the Nerd1:19:01 - World Traveler1:20:36 - Outro / Close

NC2 was started by a pair of developers and ignored the typical B2B SaaS scaling playbooks. They have grown a profitable business by creating value for their customers. Today I am talking with Neil Crawford about when you would build your business on or around the Salesforce Ecosystem and the NC2 approach to marketing and sales.-App Etc. is supported by Precursive. Precursive  believes the best companies help their clients realize value quickly, leading to customers for life. Your customer should never notice the transition between unified sales, professional services and customer success teams. Precursive helps manage and improve customer onboarding, project management and professional services automation, all in Salesforce.

Magnus Sjursen har så mange interesser at er vanskelig å velge den beste, så vi startet med hans nyeste: En Fehlmann Picomax 50 NC2

Some of the best holiday stories aren't the ones you find on TV or in the movies...but right there in your home (or someone else's home) surrounded by your friends and/or family. In this episode, we get to hear YOUR favorite holiday traditions and stories in our special holiday episode, "Our Happy Holidays".Stories and traditions from:1. Nathan, NC2. Brad, SC3. Lucas, TX4. Deborah, SC5. Liz, SC6. Cherie, SC7. Christopher, SC8. Rhylee, SC9. Brian, IN10. Jonathan, NC11. Jamie, SC12. Jonathan, NC13. Braeden, SC14. Meg, Host of "Letters From Home Podcast"15. Andy, NC16. Monica, NC17. Averie, SC18. Chris, Host of "Truce Podcast"19. Declan, SC20. Brad and Cherie, SC21. Anna, SCMusic:"Happy Holiday's" by Borrtex"Deck the Halls" by The HoHoHo'sSupport the show (https://ko-fi.com/angrychristianpodcast)

Some people dismiss the Mazda MX-5 Miata as a hairdresser’s car. Others think it’s the answer to all automotive questions. Does the truth lie somewhere between these two extreme positions — or is one of them actually right? Derek just bought a heavily modified NA Miata with Öhlins dampers on it, and it’s great. Jason had a stock NA and it wasn’t. The boys can both agree that NB is meh, turbos have no place in Miatas so the MazdaSpeed is out, but where do they fall on NC, NC2, ND? Was ND1 terrible and ND2 fixed it? Also, should Jason kill Derek? Tune in to find out.==The Carmudgeon Show is a comedic, information-filled 25-minute conversation with Jason Cammisa and Derek Tam-Scott, two car enthusiasts who are curmudgeonly beyond their years. Proving you don’t have to be old to be grumpy, they spend each episode talking about what’s wrong with various parts of the automotive universe. Despite their best efforts to keep it negative, they usually wind up laughing, happy, and extolling their love for cars. Which just makes them angrier and more bitter. Jason Cammisa is an automotive journalist, social-media figure, and TV host with over 250 million views on YouTube alone. Jason’s deeply technical understanding, made possible by a lifelong obsession with cars, allows him to fully digest what’s going on within an automobile — and then put it into simple terms for others to understand. Also, a Master’s Degree in Law trained him to be impossible to argue with. Derek Tam-Scott still tries. He’s a young automotive expert with old-man taste in cars, and a Master’s Degree in Civil Engineering — which means he knows how to be civil to Jason. Or at least he tries. With a decade and a half’s experience buying, selling, driving and brokering classic and exotic cars, he’s experienced the world’s most iconic cars. And hated most of them. Don't forget to visit: https://www.issimi.com/ISSIMI Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/issimiofficialISSIMI Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/issimiofficial/ Podcast available on: ISSIMI Soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/issimi-officialISSIMI Google Podcast: https://podcasts.google.com/?feed=aHR0cHM6Ly9mZWVkcy5idXp6c3Byb3V0LmNvbS82OTU5MjYucnNzISSIMI Spotify:

RNA polymerase II (RNAPII) has been identified almost 40 years ago, but the molecular details of its regulation and fine tuning during messenger RNA (mRNA) synthesis are still far from understood. Subsequently to RNAPII six general transcription factors (GTFs; TFIIA, TFIIB, TFIID, TFIIE, TFIIF, TFIIH) were discovered of which all except TFIIA are necessary and sufficient for promoter-dependent basal transcription initiation. In addition to the GTFs activator-dependent transcription requires the presence of a transcription cofactor, the Mediator complex. Mediator serves as a link between transcription activators, enhancers and the general transcription machinery. Initial studies revealed that Mediator stimulates the activity of the TFIIH associated kinase CDK7 and thereby facilitates RNAPII C-terminal domain (CTD) phosphorylation. Furthermore the Mediator complex interacts functionally with several signal transduction pathways and serves as an signal integration platform. In order to dissect the process of transcription initiation, early studies made use of in vitro transcription systems reconstituted from recombinant or highly purified GTFs and RNAPII. In this system basal, activator-independent transcription does not require the presence of the Mediator complex. If however a more physiological nuclear extract transcription system is used, our laboratory and others have established previously that basal transcription becomes critically dependent on Mediator. Another difference between both transcription systems is that the first is insensitive to the kinase inhibitor H8 whereas in the second transcription can be inhibited by H8. This suggests that only the second transcription system is regulated by RNAPII CTD phosphorylation. In this thesis the interplay between Mediator, RNAPII, GTFs and transcription cofactors was studied using immobilized promoter template assays in combination with various immunodepleted nuclear extracts and recombinant factors. Negative cofactor 2 (NC2) is an evolutionary conserved general cofactor that binds to many active genes in vivo. Previous studies in our laboratory had shown with recombinant proteins that NC2 competes with TFIIA and TFIIB for binding to TATA-binding protein (TBP) at a promoter in vitro. Genetic studies in yeast provided evidence that Mediator acts antagonistically to NC2. Here I have studied the role of NC2 on preinitiation complex (PIC) formation and transcription in nuclear extracts. I observed rapid association of TFIID with promoters whereas NC2 enters PICs with a slow kinetic which is similar to that of TFIIB recruitment. My data indirectly suggest that TBP binds to DNA in a yet to be defined inactive form (perhaps as a TFIID complex) which is then slowly converted into an active TBP-TATA complex that is rapidly recognized by GTFs or NC2. My data support the notion that NC2 and TFIIB compete for binding to a PIC also in immobilized promoter assays under physiological conditions. NC2 concentrations in nuclear extracts appears to be tightly controlled. Doubling the NC2 concentration in a nuclear extract by adding recombinant NC2 (rNC2) abolished functional PIC formation and transcription. However, the in vitro analysis also showed that upstream of NC2 PIC formation is fully dependent on Mediator. Hence, TFIID binds to a promoter in a nuclear extract in vitro transcription system but we have no indication that a transcription competent PIC is formed in the absence of Mediator. In yeast studies it was reported that upon transcription initiation in vitro several GTFs dissociate from the promoter DNA template whereas the Mediator complex is retained in a reinitiation complex. In the human system I recapitulate this observation for TFIIB and CDK7. In addition I provide evidence that Mediator partially dissociated from the promoter template upon transcription initiation. Upon transcription initiation the middle module subunit MED7 was retained on a promoter template, whereas the tail module subunit MED15 and CDK8 did dissociate. This data suggest that upon transcription initiation a head/middle module Mediator subcomplex is retained at the promoter whereas the tail and CDK8 modules dissociate. Previous studies have established that Mediator promotes CDK7-dependent phosphorylation of the RNAPII CTD at serine-5 (ser-5). Various studies found that CTD ser-5 phosphorylation does coincide with transcription initiation. Using new monoclonal antibodies I observed two functionally distinct modes of CTD ser-5 phosphorylation in vitro: Hypo- and hyperphosphorylation of the largest RNAPII subunit Rpb1. I observed that CTD ser-5 hypophosphorylation is established already before complex opening by TFIIH. I found CTD ser-5 hypophosphorylation to be critically dependent on TBP, Mediator, TFIIB and CDK7. In addition I noted that CTD ser-5 hypophosphorylation correlates with the transcription potential of a PIC. CTD ser-5 hyperphosphorylation was established in a Mediator-dependent fashion but independent of productive transcription. Immunodepletion of CDK7 did not led to a reduction in CTD ser-5 hyperphosphorylation. However, immunodepletion of CDK8 caused a reduction but not a loss of CTD ser-5 hyperphosphorylation upon transcription initiation indicating that another yet to be identified kinase might be involved in this process. These data suggest that CTD ser-5 hypophosphorylation is established only in the PIC context on RNAPII located at bona fide promoter regions but not on RNAPII complexes bound to DNA outside of promoter regions, e.g. in an open reading frame. Recently phosphorylation of the RNAPII CTD at serine-7 (ser-7) was reported. In that study the entire coding region of the TCRβ locus was found to be associated with RNAPII CTD phosphorylated at ser-7. Starting from there I found that establishment of CTD ser-7 phosphorylation in the process of transcription initiation can be recapitulated in an immobilized template assay system in vitro. I confirmed the in vitro finding that establishment of CTD ser-7 phosphorylation correlates with transcription initiation with chromatin immunoprecipitation experiments on an inducible model gene system in vivo. Similar to CTD ser-5 phosphorylation, I observed two modes of CTD ser-7 phosphorylation: CTD ser-7 hypo- and hyperphosphorylation. In contrast to CTD ser-5 hypophosphorylation, which was established before complex opening, I observed establishment of CTD ser-7 hypophosphorylation predominantly after complex opening by TFIIH. Both, CTD ser-7 hypo- and hyperphosphorylation were found to be Mediator-dependent. A mass spectrometric screen for PIC associated kinases (in collaboration with the laboratory of Gerhard Mittler) yielded 13 kinases. Seven of the identified kinases were further tested for their potential to phosphorylate the RNAPII at ser-7 in an immobilized template assay.

It's festival week in Speyside, as whisky lovers descend on the banks of the River Spey for the Spirit of Speyside Whisky Festival. We'll find out what's new this year from festival coordinator Ros Lewis. It's also Kentucky Derby week in Louisville, and Woodford Reserve's Chris Morris shares his recipe for the traditional mint julep. In other news...Duncan Taylor is sending its new NC2 malts to North America, and a whisky cheat pleads guilty...

Initiation of transcription by eukaryotic RNA polymerase II is finely controlled by a multitude of regulatory factors. Among them, the negative cofactor 2 (NC2), composed of the subunits NC2alpha and NC2beta, is able to bind directly to TBP-DNA complexes, preventing the assembly of the general transcription factors TFIIA and TFIIB. Despite extensive research on the negative and positive function of NC2, several questions concerning its regulation remain unexplored. In particular, localization and post-translational modifications are poorly understood. This work is the first to give some insights on the regulation of this factor. We present evidence that both subunits contain a nuclear localization signal (NLS) responsible for the accumulation of proteins in the nucleus. Immunofluorescence studies showed that NC2 dimer localizes exclusively in the nucleoplasm. However, the two subunits reveal characteristic and unique distribution patterns: NC2alpha is also found in the nucleoli, and NC2beta in small concentrations also in the cytoplasm. Moreover, we show that the two subunits already dimerize in the cytoplasm and are transported into the nucleus as a complex. Interestingly, both NLS are essential for import of the dimer. We also report for the first time several isoforms of both subunits. In vivo labeling experiments showed that NC2alpha is specifically hyperphosphorylated during mitosis. This modification does not impair its ability to dimerize with the partner and bind to TBP-DNA complexes, nor affects the stability of the complex. Furthermore, the phosphorylated protein maintains the ability to mobilize TBP on the DNA. These results suggest that NC2 is still bound to DNA during mitosis, in line with the idea that this factor keeps TBP stably associated to DNA.

Biochemische Untersuchungen beschreiben NC2 als einen Transkriptionsrepressor, welcher stabil an das TATA-Box bindende Protein (TBP) bindet. Die spezifische Bindung von NC2 an TBP inhibiert die weitere Anlagerung der generellen Transkriptionsfaktoren TFIIA und TFIIB und führt dadurch zur Unterbrechung der Bildung des Initiationskomplexes. NC2 besteht aus zwei Untereinheiten, NC2a und NC2b, die starke Homologien zu den Histonen H2A bzw. H2B aufweisen. Alle Erkenntnisse zu Beginn dieser Arbeit basierten auf Beobachtungen, die in vitro erhalten wurden. Unklar sind die Funktionen von NC2 in der Zelle. Die Aufgabe dieser Arbeit bestand darin, ein in vivo-Modellsystem zu etablieren. Als Modellorganismus wurde die Bäckerhefe Saccharomyces cerevisiae ausgewählt. Hefe hat zwei Proteine, die stark homolog zum menschlichen NC2 sind. Beide sind essentiell für das vegetative Wachstum von Hefe. Für Plasmid-Austausch-Experimente wurden Hefestämme konstruiert, bei denen die chromosomalen Gene für NC2a und NC2b durch Wildtyp-Kopien auf einem URA3-Plasmid ersetzt wurden. Mit Hilfe einer negativen Selektion gegen das URA3-Gen in Anwesenheit von 5-FOA gelang es, die humanen NC2a- und NC2b-Gene als episomale Kopien in Hefe stabil einzubringen. So zeigte sich unter anderem, daß die beiden humanen NC2-Untereinheiten, sowohl einzeln in Kombination mit ihrem Dimerisierungspartner aus Hefe als auch gemeinsam in Form des menschlichen binären Komplexes, fähig waren, die physiologische Funktion ihres Gegenstückes aus Hefe zu übernehmen. Das gleiche System wurde auch eingesetzt, um Deletionsmutanten der humanen NC2-Gene in vivo zu untersuchen. Es wurde festgestellt, daß in beiden NC2-Untereinheiten die Domänen, welche für die in vivo-Funktion notwendig sind, die vom Mensch zur Hefe konservierten Regionen enthalten. Ein wesentlicher Teil dieser Arbeit bestand darin, spontane Suppressoren einer limitierenden NC2-Funktion in vivo zu isolieren und Suppressoren mit genomischen Punktmutationen zu charakterisieren. Gefunden wurde eine Punktmutation in der großen Untereinheit (Toa1) des Hefe-TFIIA, welche einen einzigen Aminosäure-Austausch von Valin zu Phenylalanin verursacht. Hefezellen, die diese Suppressor-Mutation in Toa1 (mt- Toa1) tragen, weisen einen Kälte-sensitiven Phänotyp auf und sind trotz fehlender NC2-Gene lebensfähig. Die biochemischen Eigenschaften des rekombinanten Proteins der Suppressor-Mutante wurden durch Gelretardations-, Footprinting- und in vitro Transkriptionsexperimente untersucht. Das Protein mt-Toa1 war in der Lage, stabile TFIIA-Komplexe zusammen mit der kleinen Untereinheit Toa2 auszubilden und die Rekrutierung von TBP an die TATA-Box auf dem Promotor zu unterstützen. Allerdings zeigten weitere Untersuchungen der Suppressor-Mutante, daß der ternäre Komplex aus mt-yTFIIA, TBP und DNA weniger stabil ist. Hinweise darauf gab die reduzierte Menge an Protein-DNA-Komplexen im Fall von mtyTFIIA in Gelretardationsexperimenten unter sättigenden Bedingungen. Das mt-yTFIIA verlor zugleich seine Antirepressionsaktivität in in vivo-Transkriptionsexperimenten in Anwesenheit von NC2. Die Isolierung und Charakterisierung der Suppressor-Mutante von NC2 lieferten zum ersten Mal den Beweis, daß die Genregulation in vivo eine präzise Balance zwischen positiv und negativ wirkenden Aktivitäten erfordert. Gleichzeitig bestätigen sie die in vitro Beobachtungen, insbesondere das Gleichgewicht zwischen TFIIA und NC2 in der Kompetition um das TATA-bindende Protein TBP. Eine weitere Aufgabe der Arbeit waren Mutagenese-Studien von humanem NC2 in vivo und in vitro. Innerhalb des Histone-Fold-Motives beider NC2-Untereinheiten wurden Punktmutanten isoliert, die ihre essentielle Funktion in der Hefezelle vollständig verloren haben. Es konnten Mutanten identifiziert werden, die Einfluß auf das Wachstum der Hefe mit dem Verlust der in vitro-Aktivität korrelierten. Die Charakterisierung dieser Mutanten lieferte erste Hinweise auf funktionelle Oberflächen von NC2, die für die ternäre Komplexbildung (NC2-TBP-DNA) und die Repressionsfunktion wichtig sind. Zusammengefaßt schafft die vorliegende Arbeit einen Einblick in die NC2-Funktion in der Zelle und erweitert unser Verständnis über den molekularen Mechanismus der Transkriptionsregulation während der Initiation der Klasse II-Transkription.