Best moose hunting district in montana

My ac is getting looked at, thank god!! Oh man, oh man if I could work during mid day… oh that would be amazing. It would feeeel so good!! Now that I am pretty sure I can do it mentally if my customers aren’t in suffering heat.
My partner and I have kids that are in two school districts… right now we are trying to find away that works best for both of us and them to maintain staying in their districts… but currently I drop the kids off and pick them up during prime earning times so if we can at least get one within walking or busing distance I should be able to work more… actually try finding an office job. The idea of stability and being able to work like a normal human being (hopefully) is I am not sure how to describe it but I love thinking there is this possibility after years of non stop turbulence.
I would be looking for a job now… but the kids will need rides until we move which won’t be happening until September or later… and I will need time off for the move… so hopefully by November… I am not even sure I care what I do I just want to know I can work and not panic when I am doing great …
My thoughts lately have been really down… I don’t feel like my social group likes my company or people who actually know me really don’t enjoy me at all… my mind tells me it is because I am arrogant… I have shared my story and it’s too much for people… or they think it’s bullshit… or they hate me for telling the truth… I feel very judged by my fathers family… part of me understands that I must be upsetting them with the truth I am sharing… and I am always tryin to be respectful and try not to make it sound like they are horrible… dysfunctional yes but they are not my father… or his choices…
I am not lonely but sad, I think .sad that complete strangers make me feel more loved and accepted than any of my family and friends do… they support me more… my customers seemed to genuinely enjoy my company for the most part… and no one in my social group ever cares what’s going on with me.
That’s on my mind, this morning… I am gonna process those feelings… maybe while my car is getting worked on I can continue writing about my life a little bit

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Hi all!
So, I play this with my missus. I'm Lv.74, she is around Lv.48. So far we are doing alright, but I know there is some top tier stuff to look for to help us get through the game a little easier. We have just unlocked Apocalypse difficulty, but we are far from being able to try it out as our gear is kinda meh in terms of effectiveness. I would like to know what the best gear is to try and obtain and what enchantments are preferred. Kindly fill in the gaps below for me!
Main Weapon: ??? Enchant 1: ??? Enchant 2: ??? Enchant 3: ???
Armour: ??? Enchant 1: ??? Enchant 2: ??? Enchant 3: ???
Ranged: ??? Enchant 1: ??? Enchant 2: ??? Enchant 3: ???
Artifact 1: ??? Artifact 2: ??? Artifact 3: ???
I look forward to seeing what you recommend and I look forward to the hunt to try and obtain those items! We play the PS4 version (I'm on PS5). If anyone would like to join us sometime, feel free to add me (Reddit username). We are located in Eastern Australia.

I live in a major city in Ontario, Canada. I started working at 15 years old in High School up until I graduated University and got my first "adult" job. I worked mostly part-time aside from some full-time contract gigs in the summer months/breaks while off of school. I worked retail/grocery/food sales, summer camp coordination, services etc. and often jumped jobs in hopes to obtain different experiences. I encountered a lot of downright abusive management and got fired a handful of times. At one point I was so sick of the mistreatment that I even contacted a pro-bono employment lawyer, but they were no help. I was also advocating for a "student" or under-18 union of sorts just to protect the younger workers from predatory and exploitative management/work as a lot of the younger coworkers I encountered had no clue of what their rights were as employees at the time. I still hold strong views of protecting younger or part-time workers and would love to see some sort of protections in place.
Sometimes I feel like I could write a book about the horrible mistreatment I went through. Starting from one of my earliest jobs (not necessarily the worst of it) 17 years ago at a discount clothing retailer in a major mall, there were 2 head store managers that fed off of eachother. They were probably in their late 30s early 40s. One of them - I'll just call her A - was very passive aggressive and held strong delusions of grandeur, constantly explaining how her parents were rich as a way to one-up her lowly employees as well as let us know how much better she was than us. Apparently she lived in a large mansion with peacocks roaming the grounds (very odd). I was not a naive kid and this always struck me as overtly uncanny considering the job she held in the type of discount clothing store we worked in, but what did I know. For the most part A was nice although crass and inappropriately sarcastic, but she was the worst when manager B was around. B was in your face mean and one could never do anything right by her. She never thanked you, always belittled you and constantly made sure you knew you were replaceable. I would have to fold and refold clothing to B's standards, mop the floor 3 times over, and climb 10 ft+ ladders by myself (with no fall arrest training) to reach product on the floor or in the back. B would make our schedules and post them up on the wall in our back staff room. Never ask for time off because it just wouldn't happen. I want to emphasize that I was never an unruly person and genuinely tried my best at whatever job I held. For some reason B had it out for me. She would post up our schedules and then modify my hours without telling me. Since I worked part-time I was not on the floor enough to see any changes posted so I often missed shifts, came in on days off, or showed up late. B also made it a point to highlight my name in yellow and single me out as the only individual not adhering to my hours. A and B would often snicker and gossip behind my back while on the floor just quietly and out of earshot enough so that I could faintly hear what they were saying. The scheduling issues persisted long enough to where I was written up and promptly fired. This was after about 1 year of employment well outside of any probationary period. I was so upset about this that I actually called the District Manager to air out my grievances and attempt to file a complaint. Smart phones with high resolution cameras were not a thing at this time, so any picture evidence I had of my tampered schedules were pixelated messes of garbage that I couldn't use. The DM obviously sided with A and B because why would they care?
At the end of the day I found new employment quickly, as I often did, but man if I could go back in time to talk to my younger self I would let her know she was doing her damn best... And that unfortunately this was only the beginning of what would be years of struggles.

On Monday night while I was winning at Code Cragor 3, my fiancée Montana sat next to me folding more of those damn origami cranes. As soon as she finished one, she'd add it to the growing pile on the floor and start again. Fold, fold, fold, flick. Fold, fold, fold, flick. She'd been doing this since I proposed a week ago. She said the birds meant “happiness” so they’d be our gift to our wedding guests. I hated those demon birds.
She stopped folding long enough to ask when the town justice was showing up on Thursday. She meant for our wedding. Except I hadn't booked the justice. I said I left a lot of messages and didn’t get a call back. That was sort of true, I did leave a message at the town court. I left a wrong number for them to call back. She didn’t need to know all that, though.
She said I was too relaxed about this, like I didn’t want to get married. I didn’t, but I wasn’t going to tell her that. Last week she said she wasn’t going to keep cooking and cleaning unless I proposed. Well, she cooks, she cleans, why would I want her to leave? I proposed. I didn’t “set a date.”
Montana doesn’t like when I don’t answer her. She started flicking birds at me. I kept gaming. Flick, flick, flick. I don’t remember how many she flicked at me before I called her uncle, Sam Orrs. He’s the mechanic for our town manager. Uncle Sam had the connection I needed to ’prove my love and commitment’.
With Montana listening to every word, I described a bunch of phone calls I never made. I laid it on thick for over an hour. The overwhelming incompetence of town court staff infuriated Uncle Sam. He promised he’d work it out with the town manager and call me back Tuesday afternoon.
As soon as I hung up, Montana started talking again. Something about her ‘wedding jeans’ and how we had to get the marriage license in the morning. That killed my interest in finishing Code Cragor 3. As I turned off the console, she asked if her ‘wedding jeans’ made her look fat.
I said yes.
She left the house holding three pairs of shoes and two large overnight bags. She said to call her at Uncle Sam’s when I was ready to get the license.
As soon as her Uber turned the corner, I dumped several handfuls of those demon birds into our trash can. There were so many of them, I couldn’t fit the lid on. Oh well. I was sure most of them would stay in the can until the next trash collection day, whenever that was.
Although I went to bed right after that, I had trouble staying asleep. I hoped Montana couldn’t sleep either, so she’d come back right away.
Uncle Sam’s text-a-thon woke me at two o’clock the next afternoon. He said Montana was fine and he had "worked it out" with the town manager. He also said sit tight and wait for more. Who knows what old people mean when they text. I microwaved hot dogs, finished a bag of chips and tore through three rounds of BulletFold (new release!) before going back to sleep.
A couple of hours later, a weird noise woke me. My neighbor was sanding their floors. Roar, swoosh, roar, roar. Why are people so loud? Close your damn windows. I threw on a Pomplamoose playlist, extra loud, and held Montana’s pillow over my head until I got back to sleep.
That worked well until I woke up hungry and in the dark. Now my neighbor was doing something swooshy and crunchy. Why are people so damn loud? Close. Your. Windows.
I wandered down to the kitchen for something substantial that didn’t require cooking. Took a while to find it: two boxes of chocolate chip cookies in a cupboard and a stale donut in the fridge. Ate the donut on the way upstairs and ate half a box of cookies before getting back to sleep.
A couple hours later, I’m not sure exactly when but it was still dark, noises woke me again. This time it was my stomach rumbling. I finished the cookies and the bottle of soda I found by my closet doors. Not really filling but I was hoping Montana would smarten up right away and gets back here to cook again.
Wednesday morning I woke up around ten o’clock. Why go downstairs when I could eat in bed like a king? Okay, my emergency stash of chips wasn’t as filling as a full breakfast, but Montana hadn’t moved back yet. I watched TV until I couldn’t hear it over the sounds of my stomach grumbling, then I went down to the kitchen again. There was nothing to eat without cooking it. I made toast with peanut butter and took it, with a can of soda to my sofa.
After a couple hours of BulletFold, I still heard grumbling. It was still quite dark outside. There was nothing else to do so I went to sleep on the sofa, clutching a pillow over my head to block out noises.
This morning, I woke up hungry again. Montana was being stubborn and, in a way, that suited me just fine. If she stayed stubborn for 24 more hours, we’d miss the “wedding date” she wanted, and we’d have to start all over again. But I couldn’t wait to eat so I ordered from EatFleet, whose motto is “Delivery half an hour or half off.” With nothing else to do, I waited by the door. Twenty-eight minutes in, my phone rang. I was sure it was delivery, begging for an extra minute or two.
How wrong I was. The driver said she was outside my place and had left the bags on my front walkway. She said she couldn’t get past the birds. I said bullshit. I couldn’t hear any birds and I was waiting at the door.
The driver insisted hundreds of birds were surrounding my house. She made it clear she’d delivered on time and brought the bags as far as she could, meaning no discount.
Then she added one more weird factor: She said my house looked just like it did on local news. That was it, she ended the call. I was so angry, I didn’t want to throw open the door and risk losing my temper at her. Instead, I went to the closest window to see if I could at least describe her car to the cops.
I pulled back the curtains and saw – white. Hundreds of white origami cranes were pressing against the window. I couldn’t see the ground or the sky. This made no sense.
I ran upstairs to the bedroom window, hoping to see where the pile of birds ended, and how far across the front they went. The birds didn’t stop. There were birds past the top of the second floor windows and birds at every window, front and back of the house.
Remembering the delivery driver’s words about local news, I turned on the bedroom TV. Local news was showing drone views of my house. My house, covered by white demon birds. Reporter Gary Moovilon was right outside my house. He called me 'home owner, Dirk T Wadder.' The jerk said my name like it was Dirty Water. He said I'd broken off my engagement with less than a week’s notice. What was a rejected bride-to-be supposed to do, he went on, except get revenge?
I had suggestions. She could calm down and stop obsessing about getting married. But Gary didn’t even bother to come to my door. He wondered if a helicopter had dumped thousands of birds on the roof. He called me Dirk T, saying it like Dirty. He was clearly doing it on purpose. I decided to sue him and the station. He wondered how I managed to sleep through the noise of a helicopter. He tried to talk to my neighbors about his ideas. No one wanted to get on camera.
I didn't hear any such thing. And even if there was a helicopter, how did the birds stay in place? Did someone apply glue to each bird, or are they magnetic, or -- who cares. Less thinking, more action. I ran downstairs to start Operation Remove the Birds.
Since I was doing this during daylight, it would be best to at least pretend I was going to recycle all that paper. My hands were shaking and I realized my breathing was shallow. Last time I felt like this I was seven years ago and had just finished watching A Nightmare on Elm Street. I haven’t been seven in – a lot of years! -- no adult should be scared of paper birds, c’mon now!
It took half an hour but I found the box of recycling bags Montana got a few months back. I stuck a few bags under my arm and grabbed the broom before returning to the front door and turning the handle.
Nothing happened.
I pushed my full weight against the door.
Nothing happened.
I don’t know how much thousands of origami cranes weigh but I do know it was enough to stop me from opening my door. For a second I thought about trying my first-floor windows, but all three of them open out. If I couldn’t push a heavy wooden door into the birds, there was no way I would risk pushing glass into them.
I ran to the bedroom window -- it opened up, not out -- and pulled a fistful of the little bastards inside. The rest of the wall should have collapsed.
It didn’t.
I grabbed more of them. I pushed against the birds that remained.
The wall or birds stayed in place.
Something was very wrong. A wall of paper birds couldn’t be stronger than me, could it? There are things that defeat paper. Like water! I dumped out the bedroom trash can and filled it with cold water. When I got within throwing distance of the window, I picked up the can with both hands and aimed for the opening.
Water went everywhere. It made no difference. I pushed, poked and pulled at birds that were wet and unmovable. I only stopped because paper dust caused my eyes to tear up. I mean, that had to be it, no way I was crying at the thought of being trapped forever.
A man knows when it’s time to admit defeat. I called Montana's Uncle Sam and asked for help. He said he had proof Montana hadn’t left his house so this wasn’t his problem. Even if it was, he said, he didn’t know what to do. He said to call emergency services.
Emergency services said they came here after they saw my house on lunch time news. They soaked the birds with fire fighting foam. The foam didn’t make any difference. They said don’t cook anything until I can get air flow in the house again. I said I can’t get food delivered through the birds. They said good luck and hung up.
I went online for two hours and couldn’t find anybody who’s been trapped like this. By this time, my throat felt like it was on fire and my eyes were producing extra water to put out the flames. That’s when I realized I was dying. I was going to starve to death, if I didn't run out of air first.
I called Montana's Uncle Sam again. I didn’t care if he got a helicopter to remove the roof, just get me out. I didn’t care if I had to wash his car every week for the rest of my life, just get me out. I begged, I pleaded, I told him I would do whatever he wanted me to do, just get me out of here!
He was direct. “I want YOU,” said Uncle Sam, “to marry Montana, today.”

I've been a lurker on here and I want to share my most controversial opinion to get some insight, I've been enjoying the sub so far and figured I wouldn't get canceled here. I am moderate when it comes to most things which is why I want to understand why I feel the way I feel about this topic.
As many do, I support the death penalty, however I would go further and say I support torture as capital punishment. I believe we should have methods of inflicting varying degrees of physical, psychological and sexual trauma. Now let me clarify some points:
-I am not trying to argue that capital torture would benefit society as a whole or that we switch to such a system (im not educated enough to know all the consequnces). I just believe that for some crimes, it is the only way, at least the best way we have, of obtaining true justice.
-I understand there is subjectivity when it comes to what someone "deserves". Historical attempts to single out crime as "deserving" are ultimately arbitrary on some level. However, I think most will agree there are cases that are cut in stone. There is an arbitrary line for sure, but past that line there is just complete and irredeemable depravity and those cases are the ones I'm mostly advocating torture for.
-I know people are currently and have always been wrongfully executed and capital torture would make that much worse.
-I do not support death or torture in cases of theft as we see them commonly used in 3rd world countries. I don't believe most thievery to be on the same level of moral depravity as ones deserving of death or torture.
-I know capital punishment isn't a good deterrent for crime. I also think this is irrelevant to the question of whether it is justice.
-I disagree that capital punishment legitimizes the behavior it wants to oppress. A big reason why these crimes are heinous to begin with is because they are done to the innocent. No one is saying killing itself is evil. No one cried for Bin Laden. We celebrate war heroes. Torture and death are merely tools, like guns, you can use them for evil and you can use them for justice.
-I don't care that people are able to reform. I think literally everyone can reform, even someone like Hitler. It's human nature. We are malleable and given the right set of circumstances even the most evil person can change for good. It's always technically possible. Just because it is doesn't mean you should always be given that chance.
-I don't buy the argument that using torture and death as capital punishment condemns the poor soul who has to carry it out. Go watch interviews with executioners they literally don't give a single shit, on top of that with today's technology it wouldn't be hard to have machines automate the process.
-Forgiveness, and "revenge through success" are not justice for the perp, it is absolutely a show of good character on the victim though, and I commend anyone who's able to achieve that.
In today's civilized world we look down on eye for an eye type justice, and with good reason. There are many compelling arguments against it, some I disagree with but some I cant disprove. However, I can't help but feel that the thirst for this type of justice is part of human nature. I think we all feel deep down that retribution is the only true justice, even though in practice it only leads to more chaos. When we see a serial killer get a life sentence we don't feel like he got what he deserved. The current max sentence of life in prison would be given to a man who murders another in cold blood (and not even always), then what of all the crimes that supersede that? What if a man murdered not one but five people in cold blood, what if there was torture or sexual abuse involved as well? Why do they have the luxury of being handed the same sentence? There's a reason capital torture and death was the default justice for tens of thousands of years and practiced in basically all cultures and religions. I feel like we all feel the same deep down, and if someone were to do something completely disgusting and depraved to your family member, I know myself and plenty others would be on the hunt for vigilante justice. Because what's known as vigilante justice today, is oftentimes true justice. It's not that today's max sentence of life in prison is true justice. It's that true justice seems like it's just not compatible with a well run society so we left it behind.
I believe justice can only be earned by retribution, by making the perpetrator feel what the victims felt, and the punishment should be along the same lines, a criminal who tortured his victims should be tortured, a r*pist should be sexually violated and castrated, etc. And this would ideally be automated by machines. Again, I'm not claiming this to be a good idea, only that I believe it is true justice, I think many others hold that belief deep down whether they acknowledge it or not, and I want to understand why I believe these things because I am moderate and reasonable when it comes to basically everything else. What do you guys think of torture as capital punishment, is it true justice, what is justice to you, why is it human nature to seek vigilante justice and do I have to calibrate my moral compass for having these thoughts?
Thanks for reading
TL;DR I believe torture as capital punishment to be the only way to achieve true justice for crimes worse than one which would receive a life sentence or a death penalty. I've heard a lot of arguments against it, I disagree with some, but can't disprove others, and I want to understand why humans feel this way about eye for an eye type justice.

“HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!!!”
A laugh, what does it mean for a person? A sign of amusement? A mark of contentment? Maybe, a reaction to a quirky comment or action? Perhaps…
But now, all that echoed throughout the burning lands was a guffaw of despair and torment. It belonged to Eve, the future queen of the entire Confederation of Demons. And right now, no trace of royal dignity was to be seen within her. The woman was pulling her white hair, kneeling in her sphere at the sight of the mass-murder.
The snow of death, the sprinkled ash of white and purple fell upon the ground, taking hundreds of lives. Gramgrim, the strongest and the fiercest formation underneath the authority of Me-ua now perished like slugs under the salt. Orcs, dogs, trolls, deer, lions, crows, fiends, mind-flayers, tigers, boars, even a cult of bulls-necromancers – the brigade included many different races, men and women of different backgrounds and upbringings, their tamed beasts and familiars, slaves and draft animals. Looking at the southern organizations, consisting of various Ma-zok tribes was always fascinating. Especially, when none of them could withstand the divine plague, sent as a godly punishment for defiling the holy land of kokuyoku.
Was there any way to save themselves? Yes – they simply never should’ve come to the village. Now, though? Well, not even Panakea’s blessing could save Keyaruga from death, so why should any of them survive?
Such was Eve’s wrath; such was her sorrow, enshrined upon this wretched world.
“Fascinating.,,” Keyaruga muttered, looking underneath him. He couldn’t help but to feel glee. After all, hundreds upon hundreds of high-leveled demons perished, blessing the whole party of five with new levels to enjoy (or hate, in Ellen’s case). Strange, though. Normally, a party couldn’t be larger than four people (not that a mortal had control over it anyway; people could travel in however big assemblies, as they pleased, yet experience was earned only by parties of four), but the group stuck together pretty well. Was it another of Caladrius’ gifts, she just didn’t bother to share? Well, whatever the case…
“I know, it’s not a reason for joy… but we can definitely use all that power in our future battles.” Freia mused with a trace of regret in her voice.
“Uh-huh. Good thing to get stronger before we go after the demon king.” Setsuna supported, trapped in a conflict between joy at reaching her new threshold of power and fury for losing Visou.
“Of course this would happen… This always happens with those people and places I care for or love… I shouldn’t have taken this damned bracelet…” Keyaruga growled, looking at the yorkama talisman on his right wrist. Yet, when he was about to rip it away…
“Don’t do that.” …Ellen stopped him. For the first time in this nightmarish day she was thankful for her new powers, as they allowed her to stop her ‘brother’ from an act of utter stupidity. “It’s not your fault. Look, they came here, seeking Hakuo’s rival! Your sympathy has nothing to do with that, stop dealing in superstitions!” The Apostle of Caladrius attempted to reassure the lad. But alas…
“It’s my fault. Like Visou… like Alban… like Karman… It’s all been my fault.” …the man just wouldn’t listen.
“No… it was mine…” The crimson-haired cutie whispered, yet once again – no reaction. “Hey, brother, see that breached wall behind Mil’s house? I see traces there. Could you, maybe?..”
“Yes… Oh, Ellen, thank you!” Only when she pointed out the obvious, did the man finally wake up from his trance. Just in time to hear…
“KILL!!! KILL THEM ALL!!!” …this. Eve still couldn’t really master her raging emotions, and even the fact that no creature remained alive in the burning village stopped her in any way.
“Hm, I am saddened to inform you, little one, that there is nobody to slay here. And even if there were, I am unable to maintain the offence. I need to feed and regain my strength now.” Caladrius admonished, descending on the earth. “However, down the north road, you may find other survivors. Just make haste; they do not have much time.” The harbinger of plague informed the group, putting the white sphere on the ground. The barrier had faded just as all poisonous ash did as well, coincidentally.
Keyaruga, Setsuna, Eve, Freia, Ellen, Kelly, Patty – all could finally walk properly again. Not really a big perk, when all you’re finding yourself among the still burning remains of a ruined village, though.
“O pluvia clemens, benedic nobis tua gratia recreativa.” Fortunately, they had the Hero of Magic at their side. And so, the first thing Freia did was to cast a simple rain spell. A critically important move, especially when their raptors were getting panicked by the fires.
“Now, if you excuse me.” And what would horrify any sentient being was how gruesomely filthy Caladrius turned out to be. The very first thing she did when the party had finally landed was to grab some dead slimy bastard, and just swallow him whole, like some sort of a pelican.
“Hey! Hey! Hey! He-e-ey!!! The hell are you doing?!” The younger princess yawped, consumed by her anger. Not because she was disgusted, though… “You fucking munched him with all that armor and shit?! What’re you even thinking of?! We need that!”
“I do not care, Apostle. Unless you are willing to strip them yourself, your whining is of little concern to me.” The deity replied dismissively. Even if her plague faded without a trace, the diseased corpses were still a delicacy for Caladrius.
And here I thought Ellen was slandering her about this part. Thought it was just a nice joke. Apparently, not, Keyaruga mused, witnessing the same vile spectacle as his girls did.
“Well, I’m willing as hell! You can buy an entire village for one of those!” The young lady snarled, turning one of the corpses over, just to untie the leashes that held a cuirass in place. When people die, their rectum can’t hold feces anymore. The stench of death, dung, decay, the earth, wet and softened by the rain – so much filth among the corpses, and yet, the warlady felt overjoyed looting the corpses of their fallen enemies before tossing their naked bodies toward her hungry patron.
“Keyaruga, I think, we should…” Freia softly spoke, pointing at the breach on the northern side. She wasn’t overly enthusiastic about defiling the dead, so maybe…
“No, I’m going alone.” Sadly, the healer wouldn’t let anyone accompany him in this quest. Even the golden egg had to leave his back right now. He knew who he was pursuing. And what he would do to his enemies, once he’d reached them. “Setsuna, Freia, hold this, and stay here, and watch out for Eve, and… Well, you may also help Ellen with looting.” The lad spoke, completely ignoring the rain that fell upon his head.
“Uh-huh, got it.” The gray-haired girl agreed, putting the straps holding their unborn ‘child’ on her back. Strangely enough, the ice warrior was more than happy with pillaging the corpses. With her arms being covered in the frozen gauntlets, the girl could easily strip the fallen brigadiers to Ellen’s obvious delight.
“I… think I should bury the villagers.” Freia, on the other hand, grabbed a shovel somewhere. Instead of defiling the dead, she wanted to properly inter the remains of the poor black-wings… until their bodies were eaten by their own god.
“Whatever you wish… Just don’t forget to cut off their wings.” The man ordered, tossing away everything from Kelly’s saddle. He needed speed, not sustainability.
“I see… feathers… magic catalysts…” The sorceress instantly understood what the hero wanted from the fallen villagers. To be honest, that sort of cruelty paled compared to what their enemies sometimes allowed themselves. It didn’t make the pink-haired girl any happier, though.
“Wait!” Finally, just as Keyaruga was about to climb on his reptile steed, he got a companion in the form of the queen-to-be. “I’m… going with you!..” She spoke wearily, yet her tone wouldn’t brook any denial.
“You shouldn’t, Eve. You’re too drained as it is, I can’t risk you now.” That didn’t work on the new hero, though. The red-eyed lad knew, what kind of atrocities he was about to commit. What’s worse – he was looking forward for them.
“No… You know I can’t be killed that easily.” The white-haired woman insisted, allowing herself to climb in the saddle no matter what Keyaruga wanted. “Also, those are my people we’re talking about.”
“Alright…” The man nodded, giving one last brief look at what travesty was currently occuring on this holy ground: hundreds of corpses, two enthusiastic looter-girls stripping them before feeding them to the goddess that was primarily supposed to guard this place from such tragedies, and the strongest mage in the world, cutting off wings with her wavy dagger. All gave him a brief look. “Girls, lady Caladrius, you stay here! The raptor we’re taking will go faster carrying only two of us.” The healer admonished, silently praising himself for not including the plague incarnate in the ranks of his lovers. Wouldn’t that be awkward?
“Uh-huh. Good luck, you two.” Setsuna waved her armored hand, happily proceeding with robbing the corpses.
“Yeah… thanks. We’ll need it.”
…
The forest had been defiled. A trace of bodies, both kokuyoku and their ruthless persecutors, marked a path for the hero and his queen. Faster! Faster! The man smacked his reptile with his heels, struck against the ribs, pulled every bit of speed from poor Kelly. So much so, that even wild scavengers, who came to feast on the corpses, just fled from the massive raptor. And yet, it still wasn’t enough…
“Hey, Keyaruga!” Eve spoke, holding onto the hero’s torso with her trembling arms. “Why are you even helping us? Why… do you even bother, if they die no matter what we do?” The queen-to-be asked melancholically. Right now, she tried to find at least some meaning in her existence, just to not fall into a pit of nihilism and despair.
“It’s because… I have power. I can make a difference. And because I want to do so.” The red-haired lad responded, navigating a path through the woods with his jade eye. His status elevated him above the rest, giving the man many abilities, some considered to be… unnatural. For example, he could easily alleviate Kelly’s fatigue from constant galloping.
“Power, yes?.. The onslaught… it began when Caladrius was playing with us… But instead of putting an end to this hell, she’d go on, and on, and on… And even when we got out, she never told us what was going on. When I asked her to bless you, I was scared… and discomforted, and… whatever other words you have for discomfort. I thought it was because of the trial… Thought it was over… Then… I looked at myself, my own actions, here and in the past.” Eve shared the burden of her guilt with Keyaruga. The white-haired woman couldn’t help but blame herself for everything that happened. If she didn’t ignore her feelings, if she had checked on her wings a little earlier, if she… “If I… If I just could…”
“Was that what you saw in your challenge?” The healer wondered, trying to get his companion out of this ruinous obsession over what nobody could prevent, or even predict.
“Ugm… Who did you meet there?” Did he fail? No, not really. But instead of giving him an answer, the queen-to-be countered with a question of her own.
“Many, many people… I don’t want to talk about it now.” Unfortunately, though, Keyaruga just couldn’t bring himself to reveal what he saw, heard… did with his own hands.
“I… I see…” Eve murmured, getting a message from the lad’s depressed tone. He too carried much pain in his soul, and that vortex of suffering could never be dissipated by shutting down just some of his emotions. To completely silence this pain, Keyaruga would have to become something else entirely, something inhuman, incapable of either hate or love.
“More important, Eve, I want you to sharpen your senses. Maybe, you can trace magic better than me.” The hero suggested, as his right eye rolled around in his socket. The forest was wide and thick, and his sight wasn’t as all-seeing as he’d like it to be.
“I’ll try.” Eve whispered, trying to focus her attention on the ambient mana. Maybe, if she was just diligent enough, she could trace her living brethren? Maybe, all wasn’t lost just yet? Maybe… “You know, Keyaruga, you’re not the guilty one in all of this… If Mil didn’t let everyone in, if I wasn’t saved by your goddess, if our goddess wasn’t just like Ellen says she is… than none of this horror would have happened.” The lady in red deadpanned cautiously. Now that she knew of her ‘future’, how it might’ve been without this self-conflicted man at her side, the kokuyoku scion could clearly tell – her grandfather was just like Keyaruga and Ellen, he wanted the best for his people… and that turned Visou into a deathtrap. After all, Hakuo wouldn’t have sent Gramgrim here if Cornar had come to him with the valuable bounty that was the black-wings’ princess.
“I’m sorry…” The healer uttered, still unaware, just how much of a monster Eve’s first husband really was, and how much she owed him for showing, how the love should even look like in the first place.
“You really shouldn’t be, Keyaruga.” The black-winged prodigy responded sorrowfully. She felt the lad’s distress: it was in his voice, his posture, his way of breathing… “You can’t just carry the burden for everyone else. I tried… and I failed.” Eve spoke, trying to dissuade her defender from thinking he was able to hold the whole world on his shoulders, when, in reality, it was simply impossible. “Don’t do that. You’ll break.” This calm phrase was spoken serenely, and yet, it was a cry. A cry for help, for understanding, for letting go.
“We don’t need Caladrius.” But Keyaruga just couldn’t release himself from this burden. Even now, when riding over the forest floor, covered in disfigured corpses, most of which were charred whole, seemingly by lightning, the man couldn’t stop thinking about Eve, her troubles, the tragic price her ultimate power might demand from her.
“Why?” The lady in red asked, attempting to follow the new line of conversation which her companion had turned to. Why would he even be scared of it? Didn’t Ellen bargain two free casts for her? Ellen… How could this capricious princess be able to extort such a valuable gift from the harbinger of plague? If Eve had done something like this in the first world… then there wouldn’t be the second one.
“She’s… too frivolous, arrogant, she’s thousands years old, yet all I see is an old snobby child with no backbone. We can’t be sure she’ll maintain her promise, and I really, really don’t want to see you wither away.” The man said with that seemingly careless voice of his. “If you need someone dead, I’ll be there for you.” He added grimly then. Eve was too soft, even now, she still couldn’t deal with the moral compromises necessary, and there were going to be a lot more of them on the way toward the Obsidian Throne.
“Hah… You really do want me to fall in love with you?” The queen-to-be noted somewhat playfully. Her mood was still sombered, but even so, there was always a light in the darkness.
“Heh, aren’t you already? I can tell – you’ve changed, so that you could keep up with me, especially in the bed.” Keyaruga followed this little funny road, and retaliated with a joke of his own. But… was it really a joke, though?
“Yes… Yes, I have.” Apparently, not. “I can’t force you to become your old self, but I had a chance to change myself.” Eve explained, lowering her head. She couldn’t keep up with the man last night – he was just too big for her. That’s why, the girl had to go, the queen-to-be had to become a woman, and fast.
And so, there could be only one thing to ask at this point.
“So, do you want to fuck, once this is over?” The hero unceremoniously inquired from his companion. After all, they were already past all those earlier insults and attempts at shaming from Eve’s side.
“Yes, I do! I really, really do. I want you to ravage me, so I wouldn’t go mad.” The Me-ua kahul responded with a plea of sorrow, hate, loathing, and regret. There wasn’t anything enticing in this request, but… it was so humane.
“Of course. I will.” The man promised. Despite everything, despite this day supposedly belonging to Ellen and Setsuna, he wouldn’t refuse her, no matter what. And Eve felt that resolve in the man.
“Also, I won’t stop using Caladrius. We need her, Keyaruga. We need her… to establish our authority. Then… maybe, I won’t have to lose anyone again.” The queen-to-be spoke wearily. She wanted to reach Hakuo, wished to murder this monster once and for all with her own hands, instead of waiting till some disease finishes him. She wanted to bury this king’s legacy once and for all, so that his blood would never poison her life ever again. Eve Reese desired revenge. And Keyaruga would never feel worthy of discouraging his queen. And yet…
“Alright. But you have to promise me one thing – one time. She gave us only two times, and I don’t want you to overreach any further. Everything else I’ll deal with personally. It won’t make a difference to me anyway, my hands are already dirtied enough as it is.” Keyaruga all but demanded. The gods had put them in a tight little cage, where only those who kill more than others, were worthy of wielding great power. Right now, the man wasn’t sure his party was enough to challenge Hakuo’s rule. Even Eve, drained by Caladrius, managed to overpower her ‘heroic’ adversaries. Too bad they left her exhausted for Keyaru to finish the job. Speaking of that…
“But… why would you even bother? Don’t you just want to… make another redo? To fix everything, to save those who you couldn’t save?” The lady in red asked the lad. He was never too secretive about the circumstances he was in, and how the world ended up as it is. Still, each time he spoke of that, pain and loss broke through his armor of callousness.
“No. Just as you said, I have people to live for now. Freia, Setsuna, Ellen, you, Eve – I can’t imagine my life without you. And if I just flee into the past, then what’s even the point of us having this little chat right now?” The healer quarried in response. He was sure of what he was talking about now. Or, rather, trying to convince himself and Eve of that.
“Haa… Right…” For better or worse, the woman just exhaled and dropped the topic. To believe it would mean disregarding Keyaruga’s deep painful wounds, any further prying risked opening them up again. “I think we’ve got something.” Fortunately, right in that moment, Eve noticed a track, something to spot her brethren, where the trail of bodies had just ended.
“What? Where?” Keyaruga asked, now looking around.
“To the left from here. I feel my brethren coming to me from this side. They’re… fighting. And dying.” As the lady in red spoke, pointing in the direction the flow of souls was coming from, the rider pulled the reigns to stop his steed. He then jumped off the saddle.
“Shit, I must hurry!” The hero snarled, pulling the saber out of its sheath. A contradicting statement, seeing as he would be much faster mounted. But no… “Keep your eye on Kelly! I can’t risk the two of you!”
“You want to go alone?” The woman astounded, reaching for her companion. Alas, he never faced her.
“Yes! Our enemies are strong, Eve. And I’m not sure if I can properly protect you. Stay here; cover me with your magic.” Keyaruga urged sternly. He wasn’t a healer, nor a competent defender whatsoever. The hero was a murderer, and nothing could convince him more than the trial he completed just an hour ago.
“Hold on! I won’t let you go alone.” Nevertheless, the kokuyoku scion too wasn’t the same after that challenge. She flapped her wings, and numerous black spheres left her feathers. One, two… ten, twenty… Twenty-three shades now flew around the man, ready to assist him in murdering whoever threatened their kin. “They will protect you.”
“Ah… thanks.” The red-haired man uttered, looking at the fallen black-wings. Right now, they rather reminded him of insects with the way they dashed around. “We’ll be on our way, then.” Still, it didn’t stop him from getting ready to sprint forward to save whoever was left of the kokuyoku-zok and to punish their oppressors.
“Promise you’ll be back! Promise you’ll save everyone!” Eve ultimately asked, looking at her dead brethren. Shying away from them was a luxury, and now she had no time for such things.
“I will, Eve! Take care!”
And so, he ran off, to the site where the last bit of fighting was happening. Him, twenty-three shades… against the elite forces of Gramgrim, the only remaining fragment of the horrifying battalion; now, though, the time had come to end this warband once and for all.
…
Faster! Faster! I must be faster!
Keyaruga lunged through the woods, he jumped across logs, climbed the hills, passed a few ravines along the way, just to finally reach yet another battlefield. Mil was there, the wizened magician firmly held his staff. All bloodied, his robe torn apart, the old man still fought on.
“Masanna tanouti! (kill everyone)” A massive rider, carried by an even greater armored warg tackled Mil and his defense line of mostly women spellcasters, and a few strong men among the refugees.
“Usegi! (run) Usegi-i!!!” Mil yelled, getting ready to ward off the seemingly countless hordes of bloodthirsty invaders, preferably – all on his own. The thought of death never scared the magician, as he already looked in its eyes, and they were gentle.
“Mil-murnaz! (elder Mil!) Katunj pora bornul non! (we have nowhere to retreat!)” An armored old woman yelled, preparing her grandiose fire blast. None of them would abandon him. Only seventeen of them remained against a group of forty-seven raving cutthroats, knowing all too well, they wouldn’t be able to pull through. And yet, none of them would go down without a fight. If they did, they would be slaughtered, and after that – their kin would follow.
“SUNI-I-I-I!!! (DI-I-IE!!!)” The bruised elder snarled, imbuing his wooden staff with an element of lightning. One swing, one smack – and the monstrous wolf fell down, wriggling in the shocking agony, along with its master. One down.
“Globus igneus!” The armored hag next to him yelled, sending a massive fireball into the troops. Seven perished, four else – scattered. Yet, those who fell were mercilessly crushed underfoot by the four brutal tiger-riders – no regards to their allies, and even less toward the foe. Five men and two women from the black-wings stood up to meet them with their spears, staked into the earth… It didn’t work – the demons breached their line, gutting everyone in the reach of their decorated cleavers.
“Katunji! (retreat!) Konato wor marmori! (protect the children)” Mil commanded, tossing two hardened feathers into the enemies. Too close to him, but… it didn’t matter. “KURLINA-A-A!!! (FUCK YOU!!!)” He yelled, detonating the enchanted quills.
BOOM!
An explosion, a shockwave, the trembling of the earth. Kokuyoku were mercilessly pushed further, practically hunted like animals, and yet, their prey had claws and teeth. The blast was mighty, it broke Gramgrim’s formation, allowing the defenders to flee, to run, to… live a few minutes longer.
“Kha-a-a… Ha-a-a… Agh…” Mil helplessly wheezed, pushed to the trunk of the giant oak. His bones were broken, the old man had lost all feeling in his legs, hands, and… No, he knew what he was getting into. “Gh-h-h!.. Ugh… E… va… ma…” Even when some tall goblinoid thug impaled him with a spear, the only thing on the mind of the dying sorcerer was his granddaughter, and all those he tried to save. Tried, but…
“I’VE COME TO SAVE YOU!!!” Keyaruga roared, engaging a bat-like swordsman, lunging toward the fleeing defenders. Just in a few hundred meters away, the refugees were running from the pursuers. It was honestly a miracle to see them keeping such a substantial distance, even though the enemies had carnivorous mounts. It seems, like they were rather enjoying chasing their prey.
“GHA-A-A!!!” Nevertheless, the fencer retreated from the hero, picked up a lance from the roasted wolf-man, and tossed it into the hero. The latter dodged, then pointed in the direction of his adversaries.
“Tania wor tanouti! (kill them!) Orn wor shef na! (don’t be concerned about me!)” And just like that, a cascade of shadows materialized to shred the enemy flanks and rear. The raging dark spirits now flew all across the surviving hunters’ ranks, ripping and tearing, stabbing and shredding the yelling warriors, as they tried to damage the ethereal vengeful apparitions. Could it be worse? Oh yes! Someone began simply sniping them from afar, numerous beams of piercing light took lives of so many, the Gramgrim’s morale hit the bottom.
Still, that didn’t mean they’d stop fighting. Certainly not! The bat-demon just met a shade with a wide swing from his reddish greatsword – an instant later, this spirit was gone. An adamantine blade – Keyaruga couldn’t just let him roam around – the man tossed a dagger from his sleeve, but no. The warrior just easily deflected it with a sneer. Before the lad could go on, he crossed those twenty meters with merely two jumps, ready to cleave the hero’s head in one rapid sweep.
The man ducked, right leg forward, balance toward offence. A slash was aimed toward the leg…
“Ghhh!” And it failed – the healer got a knee in his chin for that. After all, how can a thin saber cut through the metal greaves underneath the surcoat? Discombobulated, the man was about to get a downward cut to his shoulder.
“A-A-A-A-R-R-R-R!!!” Fortunately for him, another shade saved Keyaruga the trouble by backstabbing the fencer. Well, she just impaled him in the right armpit. Did that stop the berserker? “ULMO-O-O!!! (BITCH!)” Well, certainly not. Even if his one limb flopped uselessly by his side now, the warrior firmly grabbed his sword with his left hand, turned around, and slammed the spirit with the pommel, sending herto in the afterlife for sure!
A perfect chance to dispatch the swordsman, right?
Wrong! Barely had Keyaruga reached out to give the adversary one fatal touch, when another massive tiger-like brute attacked him with his massive claws. Slash, swing, up, down – the bruiser-armorclad was fast, his attacks – relentless. The lad was forced to retreat, elope, block – anything and everything to not get smashed. Each time he blocked a hit with his saber, his elbow would dislocate. No matter, Georgius healed in less than a second. No matter, just get…
“Tokalbarne! (got you!)” Alright, now that was surprising. The lad felt the trap, but proved too slow to escape the massive tail. Distracted by the tiger, he let himself be trapped by a lamia, which now not only enveloped the man’s entire body, but also unceremoniously licked his cheek. Was it the end?
“A-A-A-A-a-a… Ha-ha-HA-HA-HA!!! TUYOBU, TONA!!! (harder, mommy!)” Clearly not! Even while being crushed by the mighty snake tail, Keyaruga laughed, intimidating his foes with the undying audacity within his immortal body. “USHI INAV… MUNA CABNEI!!! (YOU ARE ALREADY DEAD!)”
“Nan-! A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A!!!” The lamia groaned in pain. A moment later her body began to swell, to bloat, and to rupture in a gruesome spectacle of blood and gore. Could Keyaruga do it better? Certainly, but he had no time, nor wish to figure out the half-shake’s anatomy, and where her heart (Is it just one?) lied.
Either way, one down, the shades did their job too, keeping the rest of the Gramgrim goons busy, often even ending them. They were forty-seven? Well, now they were just nineteen, and the monsters’ corpses didn’t actually do wonders for the battle spirit of the remainder either.
Keyaruga couldn’t care less, though. He got out from the lamia’s mortal grip, covered in blood and viscera, only his clean white teeth shone brightly.
“E-eh…” The tiger-brawler was shaken by the view. He reached toward the woman, unable to believe his eyes. Was she his lover, or something?
“Die!” No matter, whatever the case, the Hero of Healing dashed toward him, pushed his armored left arm against his chest, and then, the purple hue killed the man for good. His aorta just ruptured from the defiled mending spell.
Then, more beasts, some of which were mounted, lunged toward him. Two tigers, a massive deer, a swarm of eight snakes, and even a giant black bear. The warband reasoned that the fastest way to get rid of shadows was to kill the man. Well, they were wrong.
“Saltare et aurugine ventis!” At this point, he didn’t really care about the melee, that’s why, instead of engaging in anymore close-quarter fights, the lad simply called upon a mighty firestorm, a burning tornado of wind and blaze, which not only killed the animals, but also moved on to the rest of the crumbled Gramgrim troops, razing trees, ma-muana and ma-zok alike, charring their flesh and drowning their screams in the mercilessly loud crackling of magical flames.
I guess, that’s what I’m getting for not min-maxing my physical stats and speed before going melee. Well, no matter. Now that they’re dead… Wait, Mil?
“MIL!!!” Keyaruga yelled, running toward the old mage. He… was already beyond saving. Fifteen shades gathered around the hero, as he looked at the impaled man, and his decapitated green-skinned murderer who had been killed next to him. “Muna sagri. (You may leave)” And so, the healer sent the shades away. Quite in time, actually, as they were already flickering in and out of existence anyway – Eve was losing her mana. Finally, the lad was all alone. “Alright, old daredevil. You deserved a nice funeral.” He pulled the spear out of the corpse, and put it on his shoulder. It wasn’t much, but at least, he would be sent off properly.
Time to go, I guess. Now, let’s reunite with Eve, and then…
“A-A-A-A-A!!!” Another change of plans. The lad heard a scream. Two voices, in fact, both females. The man looked around and saw the bat-swordsman, dragging a mother and her child by their hair, completely disregarding their wails of pain whatsoever.
“What, do you really think taking hostages will save you?” Keyaruga scoffed, taking a step toward the cowardly combatant. Quite surprising really, seeing how good he was with that greatsword of his. But, well, two more, two less – the black-wings were doomed either way, right?
“Keyaruga-maran!” Maybe so, but those weren’t just some unknown refugees – they were Mayala and Brin. When the man saw them, he halted his movements completely.
“Good humie! Stand right where you are, or they die!” The cutthroat threatened. It seemed he had already healed the wound left by a shade with a potion. And now, instead of running away, he intended to use the captured family to extort the hero. For what purpose, though?
“Oh, great! Finally, someone, who speaks a human language!” Keyaruga wouldn’t be swayed by that. Why would he, actually? As it stood now, he could simply send a spell of light through the mother or the daughter, run closer, heal them…
Why should I even care? It’d only hurt for a moment, nothing really…
“Good! And stay there, little shit.” Well, turned out, it worked. The healer lowered his saber.
“Or what? You kill them? See those burning pines, pal? I just killed all of your friends. By the way, Gramgrim is no more. I bet Caladrius has already eaten all of their corpses.”
“Hah, no shit, clever boy! Then where is she?! HE-E-EY!!! CALADRIUS!!! OVER HE-E-ERE!!! See?” Sadly, the bat-fencer remained completely unfazed by the news. He still had an advantage – Keyaruga seemed to care for the weeping family, and that was his weakness. “Drop your sword, then get on your knees, or I’ll take their fucking heads!”
“How enticing…” The man wondered with a nervous grin. He spun his weapon once, and pointed it to the ground. Mayala and Brin looked at him, their black eyes conveyed terror and distress. And still, there was a glimpse of hope. Keyaruga could do a miracle. He would save them, just like he saved the girl from the terminal rabies. “Will you set them free if I surrender?”
“Yau! (yeah!)” The swordsman grinned, drawing his reddish blade closer to their necks. “Drop your iron!”
Ha-ha-ha-hah! Oh, what should I do? What should I make?
“Hey, I’ve got a better idea. How about I kill myself?” And just like that, the healer pointed his own weapon at his chest, sowing dread in the hearts of the hostages and careless amusement in their captor.
“What? He-heh! Go ahead, humie, I’ll watch!” The bastard chuckled, slightly lowering his massive blade. This nasty glee grew only greater, when…
“Heh, I’m serious!” …the red-eyed lad plunged his own saber through his chest. To deep, in fact, that only the handle now stuck out from his torso.
“KEYARUGA-SONA!!!”
“UA-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A!!!”
“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! You’re fucking hilarious!”
Three reactions, one of terror, one of tears, and the last one of irrepressible laughter – Keyaruga spat a chunk of blood, such a wound could never really kill him, and yet, it allowed for a safe movement. One, two, three steps – as long as he pretended to limp forward like a dying fool, the enemy would never stop him from approaching. He liked the view, liked seeing the man bleeding and coughing his own lungs out. He even…
A beam. A beam of white energy just flew right besides his head. It took a moment for the cutthroat to get, what was going on, but when he did, when he understood, that some distant caster could take off his head…
“YOU FUCKER!!!” Then, the cowardly warrior grabbed his greatsword with a two-handed grip, swung it at the terrorized family… “I’LL KI-!” …and died. The last thing he saw, felt, and tasted – was the trident that pierced his neck and head from the back.

This just crossed my mind but I was thinking what if you say fell out of a plane and landed in the woods. Then you see a deer or a moose, but you don't have any hunting tags. If you managed to kill the animal to eat it (obviously extremely hard in this scenario) would you still be prosecuted? I'd imagine you wouldn't. Now what if the animal was a bald eagle or something endangered? Would that affect it?

Credit to u/gaelicpasta3 for dropping a related insight on Teachers. The most affluent and best-resourced schools in the nation might have an on-time graduation rate in the mid-80th percentile, due to a variety of factors.
Any public school district claiming to have a higher graduation rate likely has many poor quality schools. It sounds counterintuitive, but graduation rates are a metric tied to state accreditation and funding, so lousy schools have learned to game the system to stay under the radar and appear far more successful than they really are.
These are typically underperforming schools experiencing high rates of absenteeism, where student behavior is out of control. An average student’s knowledge and skills might lag 3+ years below grade level. Functional illiteracy is extremely common.
Schools claiming to have very high graduation rates almost certainly provide far less rigorous instruction than average, passing students from grade to grade whether they’ve learned anything or not. Attendance rates are abysmal, and a student who was absent 80% the school year will often still get promoted.
Of course, much of the responsibility for this lies with parents, such as those who claim to have had no idea their child was failing, despite the kid being 18 and having only completed enough credits to be in the middle of 7th grade. Districts have adopted a customer service mindset, much to the detriment of students an teachers.
It’s now common practice for school administrators to force teachers to change grades, offer b.s. credit recovery programs, and cook the books in every way imaginable to claim high graduation rates, committing straight-up fraud. A student who showed up every day, paid attention in class, and worked hard to learn may receive the same grade as student who rarely showed up, slept through class, and did not bother to complete a single assignment all year.
It’s become a major driver of teacher resignations.
As school quality has a major influence on property values, it is a smart move to carefully examine a district’s graduation rates and not accept anything at face value. Even if you don’t have kids and have no plans to, talk to parents in the neighborhood, check out community message boards, and review performance ratings and reviews on sites like GreatSchools.com. Find out where school administrators send their own children.
Getting a great deal on a place located in a lousy school district or in the cachement area of struggling schools will automatically limit the number of people willing to consider buying your house and negatively affect the sales price if you ever decide to move. It would be a serious mistake to glance at graduation rates and think “the higher, the better”.

I’m an artist. Not one you’ve heard of, though that may be changing soon. Being an artist is about creation, not about commercial success. I wouldn’t mind getting the occasional acceptance mixed in with the constant stream of rejection, of course, but it’s a process.
A long process. They say that most artists don’t become famous until after they’re dead. I’d always hoped that I’d make it slightly before that.
I graduated last year with an MFA from a relatively prestigious institution, along with a dozen other folks who convinced themselves that an insurmountable pile of debt was the best way to jump right into the starving artist lifestyle. We were, as mentioned, a small class, so we all went to each other’s showings and were generally supportive, but I was only really friends with two of the others, Jerrod and Albina.
The three of us ended up rooming together for the last year of the program, and we kept that going post-graduation. Having other folks in the house who look through the mail with the same mix of hope and trepidation is surprisingly helpful. Alone, it’s easy to simply look at everyone else’s filtered life and assume that you’re the only one failing. When you come down in the morning to find your roommate crying in her cornflakes because her last eleven submissions haven’t even gotten the courtesy of a rejection letter, it’s a little easier to see that this is just how life goes sometimes.
One of our favorite Friday night activities was going to local galleries to see who they had on display. There were a few reasons for this. One, it gave us a good idea of what they liked to show, helping us hone our own submissions. Two, it was very cathartic to be catty about what had been picked. Three, a lot of the galleries had free hors d’oeuvres and wine.
I guess four, we liked art, but honestly it was hard to remember that sometimes. Sometimes looking at other people’s finished canvases just made me angry. What made them able to decide that they were done? What made other people agree that they were worth hanging on the wall? What justified the astronomical price tags next to them?
I’m not saying that this was anything but jealousy. I’m just saying that art and I are in a complicated relationship.
About a month ago, we went to a newly-opened gallery, Souhait. It was the usual setup: tall glass windows in front showcasing the art placed strategically on bright white walls within. It had the standard mix of oddly angled separators allowing the patrons to wander slowly through the room and discover the paintings one at a time. Basically it looked like every other gallery, but as it was a new opening it had better wine than most.
I was taking a casual tour of the perimeter when Jerrod appeared at my elbow.
“Hey, congratulations!” he said. “You weren’t going to tell us? I can’t believe you managed to keep this a secret.”
“Sorry, what?”
“Oh, yeah, ‘what’ indeed.” He steered me around several corners to where Albina was admiring a painting. “‘There’s a new gallery opening, we should all go, no reason.’ Congrats!”
I stared at the painting in disbelief. It was one of mine.
I was certain that I hadn’t submitted to this gallery. I hadn’t even heard of it until Albina had mentioned that it was opening. I would have remembered receiving a letter of acceptance, and I definitely would have remembered delivering a painting. None of these things had happened.
And yet there my art was on the wall. It had my signature, and my name displayed next to it on a card. I knew the piece. I’d done it two or three years ago. It was good, very representative of my style at the time, but I’d moved on and had stopped trying to get it displayed a while ago. The last I had seen it, it was six or seven canvases deep in a stack of pieces that I had nowhere else to put.
It was fairly obvious that that was not the case now. The proof was on the wall in front of me.
Albina and Jerrod were both praising me, so I just smiled and made vaguely humble comments. I must have submitted it. It wasn’t like someone had broken into our apartment and stolen a single piece of my art. It was both confusing and concerning that I couldn’t recall offering it to this gallery, but it was the only explanation that made sense.
I was still trying to puzzle this out when another familiar piece caught my eye. I nudged Jerrod. “Oh, so I’m the one keeping secrets?”
He raised an eyebrow at me, and I pointed across the floor. His eyes widened as he saw the same thing I had: one of his paintings neatly framed and prominently displayed.
“I didn’t even know you’d finished that one,” I said. “I swear I saw you working on it like two days ago.”
“Yeah,” he said, sounding a bit lost. “I was.”
“How’d you get the gallery to take it before it was even done?”
“Oh my God, look!” said Albina.
In the back corner of the gallery, occupying an entire corner, was a small collection of Albina’s work. It was expertly curated. I’d watched her develop her style for years, and the eight paintings chosen here perfectly encapsulated the entire range. Clusters of people kept gathering in front of them, and I saw more than one slip off to speak to the gallery owner about purchasing a piece.
“Albi, these are amazing,” I told her after we finally managed to get close enough to see them all properly. “This—some of these are absolute perfection. I don’t think I’ve even seen all of them.”
“Seriously, when did you do all of this?” asked Jerrod. “Some of these are definitely new. Unless you have a secret studio you’ve been hiding from us?”
He narrowed his eyes at her in mock suspicion. She laughed, shoving him lightly, but behind her smile I saw the same confusion that I’d heard in Jerrod’s voice, the same that I’d felt myself. None of us knew that our work was going to be on display here. Something was very odd.
We didn’t talk about it then. Oddity or not, our art and our names were on display, and there were free drinks to toast with. We refilled our glasses, congratulated each other effusively, wandered the gallery for a bit and then did it all again. By the time we were walking home, all concerns had vanished from all of our minds. We were successful! We could figure out how and why later.
The next morning, Albina was dead.
I woke up late with a hangover. Jerrod woke up later, looking even rougher than I did. There was nothing resembling breakfast anywhere in the apartment, so we sat and sipped our coffee silently. Albina’s door was open, and I think we both hoped that she’d gone out to get bagels or something and that we would shortly be provided for.
She wasn’t answering texts, and Jerrod and I were just starting to get concerned when there was a knock at the door. We opened it to find a policeman asking if we knew Albina Shevchenko, and if we had contact information for her family, and if we could come identify the body.
It had been a hit and run. She’d been dead by the time witnesses had gotten to her. No one had seen the car’s license plate. The police didn’t even pretend that there was a chance of justice.
They gave us her effects, including what remained of a bag of bagels. Somehow that was the worst part for me. She’d gone out to get something to celebrate with us. It made us complicit.
At the funeral, the priest spoke about her giving spirit and her wonderful personality, but most of all he spoke about her massive artistic talent. He went on at length about what she could have created if she had not had her span cut short. The entire gathering nodded along with him.
Jerrod and I exchanged looks. It wasn’t that he was wrong. She was amazing, and eventually the world would have known about her. It’s just that that hadn’t happened yet. The three of us were, as far as we could tell, the only ones really aware of how much potential we had. If everyone knew this about her, why had she been scraping by in a dingy apartment with us, trying to get enough money together to buy more art supplies?
“We should go back to Souhait,” Jerrod said after the funeral. “The gallery owner probably doesn’t know. We’ll need to get her pieces back before he trashes them when she doesn’t respond.”
Our trip was unnecessary. The gallery owner had Albina’s obituary blown up to large size and prominently displayed next to a tremendous collection of her work. It covered entire walls of the gallery, each piece with an explanatory card discussing when and why she had painted it. Where the prices had been on the cards, every single one was marked “SOLD.”
I was looking around for the owner to ask where he was sending the money when Jerrod grabbed my arm.
“Look,” he said, half-whispering.
Arranged in a neat circle on one wall were a dozen of his paintings.
“I don’t know that I want to be on display here,” he said. He sounded frightened.
“Then take them back. They’re your pieces.”
“Are they?” He pointed. “I never finished that one. That’s how I wanted it to look, but I couldn’t get it right. I swear I never completed it. And there! I never painted that. I thought of it, I knew it in my head, but I have never put brush to canvas for it. Not even to start it.
“How could they have any of this? How could anyone?” His voice was rapidly rising toward hysteria.
“Hey, let’s get you out of here,” I said, putting an arm around his shoulders. “We’ll come back tomorrow and get them taken down if you want. We’re all running on fumes right now.”
Privately, I thought again about the piece that Souhait had of mine. I’d never gotten around to looking for it at the apartment. Things had been a blur since Albi’s death. I wondered how this gallery had so much of our stuff. I wondered what else had been taken.
Back at home, Jerrod rummaged through his artwork, hunting for something.
“See?” he said finally, holding up a canvas. “I told you. It isn’t done.”
He was holding up something that could have been an early attempt at one of the pieces we’d seen in the gallery. It was the same general idea, but the colors weren’t right and the composition didn’t gel. Also, as he’d said, it was clearly incomplete. Parts of the canvas still showed through in some areas. It wasn’t what was hanging on the walls.
“I told you,” he repeated. “How can they have art I never finished?”
I tried to get him to calm down. I sat him down on the couch and poured him a drink. We’d go back in the morning, I said. We’d find the owner. We’d sort all of this out. It was a problem for tomorrow, not for this evening. Not right after a funeral.
I thought I’d gotten him to agree with me. I poured us both another drink. Somewhere in the middle of that one, I fell asleep on the couch.
When I woke up, Jerrod was gone.
Just one of those things, the police said. Wrong place at the wrong time. He’d been mugged. His credit cards and phone were gone. He’d bled out in the street. He was almost halfway to Souhait.
I went there to get his art taken down, like he’d wanted. They’d already expanded the collection. His photo smiled down at me from the main wall, next to an obituary lauding his talent, his bold innovation, his novelty. The rest of the gallery was plastered with his work. I recognized some of the paintings he’d been rifling through at the apartment the previous day. Most had already been sold.
And on the back wall, in a small but well-lit section by themselves, hung six of my paintings. The one that I’d seen the first night was there, along with two others I was particularly proud of. If I’d been asked to pick three pieces to best represent who I was and who I had been as an artist, those might have been them.
The other three bore my signature, but I did not paint them. Not yet. Like Jerrod, I knew the subject matter in them. I had thought of them, conceived them, and even made some attempts to put them to canvas, but they had never come out like I’d imagined. I’d set them aside to try again later, when I had better supplies, when I was better.
Yet here they hung, complete and perfect, exactly as I had pictured them. It was a triumph of my craft.
It was beautiful to see what I could become, given enough time.
It’s just too bad that I don’t have it.
Most artists don’t become famous until after they’re dead.

I’m an artist. Not one you’ve heard of, though that may be changing soon. Being an artist is about creation, not about commercial success. I wouldn’t mind getting the occasional acceptance mixed in with the constant stream of rejection, of course, but it’s a process.
A long process. They say that most artists don’t become famous until after they’re dead. I’d always hoped that I’d make it slightly before that.
I graduated last year with an MFA from a relatively prestigious institution, along with a dozen other folks who convinced themselves that an insurmountable pile of debt was the best way to jump right into the starving artist lifestyle. We were, as mentioned, a small class, so we all went to each other’s showings and were generally supportive, but I was only really friends with two of the others, Jerrod and Albina.
The three of us ended up rooming together for the last year of the program, and we kept that going post-graduation. Having other folks in the house who look through the mail with the same mix of hope and trepidation is surprisingly helpful. Alone, it’s easy to simply look at everyone else’s filtered life and assume that you’re the only one failing. When you come down in the morning to find your roommate crying in her cornflakes because her last eleven submissions haven’t even gotten the courtesy of a rejection letter, it’s a little easier to see that this is just how life goes sometimes.
One of our favorite Friday night activities was going to local galleries to see who they had on display. There were a few reasons for this. One, it gave us a good idea of what they liked to show, helping us hone our own submissions. Two, it was very cathartic to be catty about what had been picked. Three, a lot of the galleries had free hors d’oeuvres and wine.
I guess four, we liked art, but honestly it was hard to remember that sometimes. Sometimes looking at other people’s finished canvases just made me angry. What made them able to decide that they were done? What made other people agree that they were worth hanging on the wall? What justified the astronomical price tags next to them?
I’m not saying that this was anything but jealousy. I’m just saying that art and I are in a complicated relationship.
About a month ago, we went to a newly-opened gallery, Souhait. It was the usual setup: tall glass windows in front showcasing the art placed strategically on bright white walls within. It had the standard mix of oddly angled separators allowing the patrons to wander slowly through the room and discover the paintings one at a time. Basically it looked like every other gallery, but as it was a new opening it had better wine than most.
I was taking a casual tour of the perimeter when Jerrod appeared at my elbow.
“Hey, congratulations!” he said. “You weren’t going to tell us? I can’t believe you managed to keep this a secret.”
“Sorry, what?”
“Oh, yeah, ‘what’ indeed.” He steered me around several corners to where Albina was admiring a painting. “‘There’s a new gallery opening, we should all go, no reason.’ Congrats!”
I stared at the painting in disbelief. It was one of mine.
I was certain that I hadn’t submitted to this gallery. I hadn’t even heard of it until Albina had mentioned that it was opening. I would have remembered receiving a letter of acceptance, and I definitely would have remembered delivering a painting. None of these things had happened.
And yet there my art was on the wall. It had my signature, and my name displayed next to it on a card. I knew the piece. I’d done it two or three years ago. It was good, very representative of my style at the time, but I’d moved on and had stopped trying to get it displayed a while ago. The last I had seen it, it was six or seven canvases deep in a stack of pieces that I had nowhere else to put.
It was fairly obvious that that was not the case now. The proof was on the wall in front of me.
Albina and Jerrod were both praising me, so I just smiled and made vaguely humble comments. I must have submitted it. It wasn’t like someone had broken into our apartment and stolen a single piece of my art. It was both confusing and concerning that I couldn’t recall offering it to this gallery, but it was the only explanation that made sense.
I was still trying to puzzle this out when another familiar piece caught my eye. I nudged Jerrod. “Oh, so I’m the one keeping secrets?”
He raised an eyebrow at me, and I pointed across the floor. His eyes widened as he saw the same thing I had: one of his paintings neatly framed and prominently displayed.
“I didn’t even know you’d finished that one,” I said. “I swear I saw you working on it like two days ago.”
“Yeah,” he said, sounding a bit lost. “I was.”
“How’d you get the gallery to take it before it was even done?”
“Oh my God, look!” said Albina.
In the back corner of the gallery, occupying an entire corner, was a small collection of Albina’s work. It was expertly curated. I’d watched her develop her style for years, and the eight paintings chosen here perfectly encapsulated the entire range. Clusters of people kept gathering in front of them, and I saw more than one slip off to speak to the gallery owner about purchasing a piece.
“Albi, these are amazing,” I told her after we finally managed to get close enough to see them all properly. “This—some of these are absolute perfection. I don’t think I’ve even seen all of them.”
“Seriously, when did you do all of this?” asked Jerrod. “Some of these are definitely new. Unless you have a secret studio you’ve been hiding from us?”
He narrowed his eyes at her in mock suspicion. She laughed, shoving him lightly, but behind her smile I saw the same confusion that I’d heard in Jerrod’s voice, the same that I’d felt myself. None of us knew that our work was going to be on display here. Something was very odd.
We didn’t talk about it then. Oddity or not, our art and our names were on display, and there were free drinks to toast with. We refilled our glasses, congratulated each other effusively, wandered the gallery for a bit and then did it all again. By the time we were walking home, all concerns had vanished from all of our minds. We were successful! We could figure out how and why later.
The next morning, Albina was dead.
I woke up late with a hangover. Jerrod woke up later, looking even rougher than I did. There was nothing resembling breakfast anywhere in the apartment, so we sat and sipped our coffee silently. Albina’s door was open, and I think we both hoped that she’d gone out to get bagels or something and that we would shortly be provided for.
She wasn’t answering texts, and Jerrod and I were just starting to get concerned when there was a knock at the door. We opened it to find a policeman asking if we knew Albina Shevchenko, and if we had contact information for her family, and if we could come identify the body.
It had been a hit and run. She’d been dead by the time witnesses had gotten to her. No one had seen the car’s license plate. The police didn’t even pretend that there was a chance of justice.
They gave us her effects, including what remained of a bag of bagels. Somehow that was the worst part for me. She’d gone out to get something to celebrate with us. It made us complicit.
At the funeral, the priest spoke about her giving spirit and her wonderful personality, but most of all he spoke about her massive artistic talent. He went on at length about what she could have created if she had not had her span cut short. The entire gathering nodded along with him.
Jerrod and I exchanged looks. It wasn’t that he was wrong. She was amazing, and eventually the world would have known about her. It’s just that that hadn’t happened yet. The three of us were, as far as we could tell, the only ones really aware of how much potential we had. If everyone knew this about her, why had she been scraping by in a dingy apartment with us, trying to get enough money together to buy more art supplies?
“We should go back to Souhait,” Jerrod said after the funeral. “The gallery owner probably doesn’t know. We’ll need to get her pieces back before he trashes them when she doesn’t respond.”
Our trip was unnecessary. The gallery owner had Albina’s obituary blown up to large size and prominently displayed next to a tremendous collection of her work. It covered entire walls of the gallery, each piece with an explanatory card discussing when and why she had painted it. Where the prices had been on the cards, every single one was marked “SOLD.”
I was looking around for the owner to ask where he was sending the money when Jerrod grabbed my arm.
“Look,” he said, half-whispering.
Arranged in a neat circle on one wall were a dozen of his paintings.
“I don’t know that I want to be on display here,” he said. He sounded frightened.
“Then take them back. They’re your pieces.”
“Are they?” He pointed. “I never finished that one. That’s how I wanted it to look, but I couldn’t get it right. I swear I never completed it. And there! I never painted that. I thought of it, I knew it in my head, but I have never put brush to canvas for it. Not even to start it.
“How could they have any of this? How could anyone?” His voice was rapidly rising toward hysteria.
“Hey, let’s get you out of here,” I said, putting an arm around his shoulders. “We’ll come back tomorrow and get them taken down if you want. We’re all running on fumes right now.”
Privately, I thought again about the piece that Souhait had of mine. I’d never gotten around to looking for it at the apartment. Things had been a blur since Albi’s death. I wondered how this gallery had so much of our stuff. I wondered what else had been taken.
Back at home, Jerrod rummaged through his artwork, hunting for something.
“See?” he said finally, holding up a canvas. “I told you. It isn’t done.”
He was holding up something that could have been an early attempt at one of the pieces we’d seen in the gallery. It was the same general idea, but the colors weren’t right and the composition didn’t gel. Also, as he’d said, it was clearly incomplete. Parts of the canvas still showed through in some areas. It wasn’t what was hanging on the walls.
“I told you,” he repeated. “How can they have art I never finished?”
I tried to get him to calm down. I sat him down on the couch and poured him a drink. We’d go back in the morning, I said. We’d find the owner. We’d sort all of this out. It was a problem for tomorrow, not for this evening. Not right after a funeral.
I thought I’d gotten him to agree with me. I poured us both another drink. Somewhere in the middle of that one, I fell asleep on the couch.
When I woke up, Jerrod was gone.
Just one of those things, the police said. Wrong place at the wrong time. He’d been mugged. His credit cards and phone were gone. He’d bled out in the street. He was almost halfway to Souhait.
I went there to get his art taken down, like he’d wanted. They’d already expanded the collection. His photo smiled down at me from the main wall, next to an obituary lauding his talent, his bold innovation, his novelty. The rest of the gallery was plastered with his work. I recognized some of the paintings he’d been rifling through at the apartment the previous day. Most had already been sold.
And on the back wall, in a small but well-lit section by themselves, hung six of my paintings. The one that I’d seen the first night was there, along with two others I was particularly proud of. If I’d been asked to pick three pieces to best represent who I was and who I had been as an artist, those might have been them.
The other three bore my signature, but I did not paint them. Not yet. Like Jerrod, I knew the subject matter in them. I had thought of them, conceived them, and even made some attempts to put them to canvas, but they had never come out like I’d imagined. I’d set them aside to try again later, when I had better supplies, when I was better.
Yet here they hung, complete and perfect, exactly as I had pictured them. It was a triumph of my craft.
It was beautiful to see what I could become, given enough time.
It’s just too bad that I don’t have it.
Most artists don’t become famous until after they’re dead.
X

​
https://preview.redd.it/1i6hldzjil3b1.png?width=3840&format=png&auto=webp&s=9366c3678f01b7ef46e4a57d552f4e1bfb45c530
I've been running ToA for a group of friends for about 3 years now and we're finally coming up on the final fight and I just wanted to gush a little about what they've been through during that time. We started before Covid on an every-other-week basis, took some time off at the beginning of the pandemic, and only in the last couple months did we switch to weekly, which is why it's taken us so long. It's also taken so long because I was committed to running by the book: survival checks each day to navigate, track rations, track bug repellant, random encounters, tropical storms. I also implemented Gritty Realism from the DMG, where resting overnight in the jungle was only a Short Rest and they'd have to dedicate an entire day of building out a semifortified camp to rest for the entire next day before breaking it down and continuing. It slowed down progress but I think overall the players like that they were forced to be survivalists.
Early on, the adventurers Nyx (tabaxi monk/warlock), Orynn (gnome wizard) and Ivory (tiefling bard) were hired by Syndra Sylvane to stop the Death Curse. This wouldn't turn out too well, as Nyx was slain in session three or so by a critical Yellow Musk Creeper hit. The party, now featuring human archer-warlock Folsom, hired out the guides River and Flask to explore Camp Righteous, and hired some Flaming Fist soldiers (Gwen and Jean) to delve into the jungle again, finding the goblin city of Yellyark along the way, wherein Gwen barely held the line against the Goblin Boss chieftain and established herself as a badass, before the party yeeted (yote?) the city far into the jungle, but not before acquiring an amulet which they subsequently matched with its Shield Guardian.
The party's next expedition was inspired by a seer in Port Nyanzaru, who told Folsom to seek the sage of Orolunga. They were joined by Inete, who wanted the party to take her to the Aldani Basin to pursue visions of sinister wizards there. They hired Azaka Stormfang to guide them, on the condition that they first stop by the Firefinger to recover her lost artifact, a nearly fatal encounter that included Ivory breaking a leg as he fell from partway up the tower. From there, they met Artus Cimber also on his way to Orolunga, but parted ways afterwards as they headed to the Aldani Basin, briefly meeting Valindra Shadowmantle in the floating Heart of Ubtao where they say from a distance a wrecked skyship. After rescuing the crew of the Star Goddess, they came across and saved another adventuring party, led by a wealthy but not-suited-for-a-jungle mage named Lucas. Taking on all of these extra adventurers strained their supplies to the limit, and it was only through Folsom's foraging that they managed to avoid starvation on their way back to the Port. They also encountered Camp Vengeance, but when forced into service by the master of the camp, the party used Lucas's magical might to decimate the camp before fleeing.
In the city, Lucas told them of his quest to map out routes to Orolunga and Nangalore. Having already mapped out Orolunga, they agreed to find a route to Nangalore for him while he stayed in the port and finalized the deal and bought supplies. Heading into the jungle again, with Inete joining them as her relationship with Orynn slowly grew, the party met a Shadar-Kai Barbarian named Cormag as he was fleeing a T-Rex, and he joined them on thier way to Nangalore. However, Zalkore proved a terrible threat, and petrified both Cormag and Folsom. In the aftermath of the battle against the Medusa, Cormag's sister Amasha, led by the lizardfolk ranger Qyzen Fess, arrived, just barely too late for the siblings to reconnect. The party found their way to Kir Sabal, where they defended the inhabitants from Gargoyles and used the Dance of the Seven Winds to return to Port Nyanzaru.
In the port, they met with the dwarven guide Musharib who offered to take them to his ancestral home of Hrakhammar, offering some of the forge's riches if they help him rid it of the fire newt threat within. They made a deal with their friend Lucas to meet them in Shilku Bay after a few weeks and set off, eventually freeing Hrakhammar for the Albino Dwarves, allowing them to once more establish a proper community on the peninsula.
They met Lucas and his new ship in Shilku Bay to return to Nyanzaru, where they decided to finally use the knowledge gained at Orolunga to find Omu and stop the Death Curse. It was during this time that Orynn decided to retire from adventuring life; the stresses and trauma he suffered in the jungle too much for the poor gnome, he sought therapy and a quieter life with his now-official girlfriend Inete. Similarly, Amasha decided to stay in the city to research ways to un-petrify her brother. To replace them, Lucas hired two new crew members: Lucky In the Dark, a tabaxi swashbuckler, and Tiger's Eye, an elderly Dwarven Sorcerer. Their names never got confusing, I promise. They were also approached by a young half-elf calling herself Xandala, hoping the party might take her to reunite with her father Artus Cimber, if they ever came across him. Sailing down to Shilku Bay once more, their ship was attacked and boarded by pirates, whose storm-mage thwarted Tiger's Eye's long-range fireballs. In the brawl that ensued, Lucky was able to best Captain Laskilar in a (mostly) one-on-one duel, claiming his magical cape for himself. It was not very long after arriving in Shilku Bay that the party, with the information from Saja N'Baza of Orolunga that they discovered the grand ruined capital city: Omu. Now knowing were to go, they returned to Port Nyanzaru for the last time to resupply before venturing into the heart of evil.
This is when Ivory finally departed the group as well, though their friend from the mainland, a Travel-Domain Cleric called Ezra, was in town and recommended to join the expedition to avenge her dog who was slain by the Death Curse. Lucas also hired an additional healer, a priest of Torm named Undril Silvertusk. They were once again accosted as they sailed south, by Captain Al-Saryak, defeating him and his crew as well. During this time, Lucas and Xandala also began to grow close. Traveling across the Valley of Lost Honor, they were scouted and chased by Tsindelor, the Red Dragon of Wyrmheart Mine, and Lucas was forced to offer it all of his gold and treasure to appease it so they could escape.
Omu was difficult. They me a wily old scribe, abandoned by his former employers, named Orvex, and using his knowledge began to slowly conquer various puzzles and traps across the city, collecting Puzzle Cubes for an unknown purpose. This conflict soon put them at odds with a Red Wizard, and while he was slain, he promised the group there more of his people who would crush them. They also had several close encounters with a vast beast, called the King of Feathers, and before long knew they had to hunt him down or be hunted themselves. They confronted him at his amphitheater lair, where they found the rest of the Red Wizards were also trying to slay the magical dinosaur. Rather than putting their differences aside, a great three-sided melee broke out between the party, the Wizards, and the King, eventually leaving the party as the last ones standing. However, Tiger's Eye's heart began to give out, and he returned to the ship in Shilku Bay. It was during these explorations of Omu that an Assassin Vine struck an isolated party member, capturing and killing the beloved Flaming Fist Gwen, who had been with the part for so long. They also found a den of Kobolds under the marketplace, slaying all but one, and telling the survivor that his people were "based" before forcibly recruiting him into the party. Snirbo the Kobold would be given lessons from Lucky on the basics of swordplay, though he was never very good at it. After taking control of the Grung tribe at Nangnang's Shrine, the party found a human knight, ensorcelled by a Nyanzaru guide; a Yuan-Ti in disguise. After being freed, Gilderoy Gleamleaf opted to join the party in their quest, as it was the same as his own: destroy the Soul Monger and end the Death Curse.
In time, they found their way into the back entrance of the Fane of the Night Serpent, the home of the Yuan-Ti of Chult and the lair of the warlord Ras Nsi. The party launched several expeditions into the temple, slaying snakes and freeing prisoners. Ezra and Qyzen soon realized there were too many prisoners to accompany them, but they would be unable to fend for themselves, and escorted them back to the ship. Among the prisoners, two were capable combatants, a Goliath infused with the ancient powers of his giantkin people named Manuyemo, and an elf Chronurgist Wizard named Osmanthus. The expeditions in and out of the Fane were at times disastrous, with both Osmanthus and Undril being captured, and Snirbo being turned to stone, but after Manu was able to beat the Yaun-Ti champion Sekelok, not very many of the remaining Yuan-Ti were serious threats, beyond their ability to consistently Suggest Gilderoy. Within the Fane, the party found a gravely wounded and misbegotten Artus Cimber and his friend Dragonbait, both robbed of their gear including the legendary Ring of Winter. The final confrontation with Ras Nsi, the new wielder of the Ring, was incredibly difficult, as he was able to use the Ring's Wall of Ice to isolate party members to strike with his magical sword. After some very close calls, he was forced to retreat through a teleportation pad. Learning how the pads functioned, several party members were teleported to random parts of the dungeon, before Lucas accidentally found himself face-to-face with the warlord. The sounds of the fight that followed drew the party to Ras Nsi's hidden chambers, where in the moment of all involved being severely weakened, Xandala finally sprung her trap, *Fireball*ing the room to claim the Ring for herself. Unfortunately, it wasn't quite enough power, and some party members survived to stop her and save their friends from bleeding out.
Opting for mercy for this person they thought was their friend, they let Xandala live, though this far south, she had no choice but to continue to assist the party, or else brave the jungle alone and surely die. As various other teammates handled the Ring, they were all tempted to violence until it found itself back within Artus's grasp. As thanks for freeing him and Dragonbait and returning the Ring, he decided to help the party through the upcoming Tomb of the Nine Gods.
With all Puzzle Cubes from the Red Wizards and Ras Nsi in hand, the party finally entered the Tomb of Annihilation.
It was not easy. Artus became cursed very early on, removing his ability to regain hit points and slowly sapping his life, forcing him to stay out of most fights as the party battled Tomb Guardians and Dwarf-Wights. They found the administration office of the Tomb run by Withers, who was unable to escape and slain, Gilderoy claiming his amulet.
While no part of the Tomb was pleasant, the first tragedy of the Tomb was during the fight against the invisible beholder Belchorz, who turned Lucas to stone. This was not easy for the group, and especially not for Xandala. It was also around this time that the party started suffering nightmares in the Tomb, even protected by Tiny Hut spells, with some of them losing maximum HP and unable to recover during Long Rests. The second tragedy was on a lower level, when Gilderoy entered a secret room and snuffed out a candle. He was teleported out of the room and never seen again, though we know he was ground to nothingness along with all he was wearing and carrying.
Pressing on, the party found a throne Room and a hidden sarcophogus with a fine necklace atop it. Giving the necklace to Jean to appease the spirit of Nangnang possessing him, he put it on, activating its curse and becoming the center of an 8th-level *Fireball,* disintegrating immediately and awakening the Zombie T-Rex hidden below the room. After slaying the beast, it disgorged a curious sight: A spore-infested Firbolg calling itself Cousin Klemba, who had been disintigrated in the tomb years earlier, but by a 1-in-a-billion magical chance, its spores managed to survive and reconstitute inside the flowery gut fauna of the T-Rex. Activating the second trap in Napaka's sarcophogus room really put a damper on the party's mood, and they decided to avoid all distractions and recover the last of the Skeleton Keys without exploring any more rooms than strictly necessary.
At the bottom of the Tomb, they finally came head-to-head with the Hags who had been tormenting them: the Sewn Sisters Baggy Nanna, Peggy Deadbells, and Widow Groat, each accompanied by two Wraiths. The fight was brutal, perhaps the most difficult so far, as the Hags used very effective Hold Person spells to lock down the gorup as the Wraiths began to critically hit them, reducing max HP and inflicting massive damage. All the while, the Hags were able to counter most of the party's spells while phasing in and out of the Ethereal. Widow Groat even managed to acquire one of the Skeleton Keys, but was slain by Keshma al-Wazir, a dao genie that was indebted to the party after being freed by them, before Groat could escape to the Ethereal plane.
Now, with all of the Hags dead, the party might be able to have their first complete and uninterrupted Long Rest in the Tomb, before opening the Skeleton Gate and confronting, at long last, the Soul Monger.
This Sunday, we're meeting in person again for the finale. I've been constructing a 3D version of the final fight, and a custom scuplt of the Atropal inspired by ideas on this sub. I'm gonna kill them all.

With round 3 finished in a few hours (you can still vote on heat 6 til 3!) and the Semi finals kicking off at 3, it’s time for a new leaderboard, the Round 3 leaderboard! Let’s see how much things have changed since Round 2!
First of all, here’s a link to the Round 2 leaderboard, the top 20!
https://www.reddit.com/coronationstreet/comments/13nr5v9/your_favourite_past_corrie_character_or_pet_2000s/
And here’s the Round 1 one, the top 25!
https://www.reddit.com/coronationstreet/comments/130js57/your_favourite_past_corrie_character_or_pet_2000s/
Now for a look at Round 3!
1st- Deirdre Barlow- at least 111 points in heat 6 (1st in heat)- UP 5
2nd- Mike Baldwin- at least 73 points in heat 6 (2nd in heat)- RE ENTRY
3rd- Liz McDonald- 72 points in heat 2 (1st in heat)- UP 2
4th- Eva Price- 71 points in heat 3 (1st in heat)- UP 3
5th- Becky GrangeMcDonald- 71 points in heat 4 (1st in heat)- DOWN 3
6th- Rosie Webster- 70 points in heat 2 (2nd in heat)- RE ENTRY
7th- Karen Phillips/McDonald- 66 points in heat 1 (1st in heat)- UP 7
8th- Blanche Hunt- 66 points in heat 5 (1st in heat)- DOWN 8
9th- Fred Elliott- 58 points in heat 2 (3rd in heat)- DOWN 2
10th- Jason Grimshaw- 57 points in heat 1 (2nd in heat)- UP 2
11th- Hayley Cropper- 57 points in heat 5 (2nd in heat)- DOWN 10
12th- Schmeichel the Great Dane- 55 points in heat 1 (3rd in heat)- RE ENTRY
13th- Martin Platt- 55 points in heat 3 (2nd in heat)- NEW ENTRY
14th- Kylie TurnePlatt- at least 51 points in heat 6 (3rd in heat)- DOWN 8
15th- Lloyd Mullaney- 44 points in heat 4 (2nd in heat)- DOWN 6
Congratulations to Deirdre, who has got the biggest score of Round 3 so sits on top of the new Round 3 leaderboard, replacing mum Blanche just one round later! She’s the only contender this round to finish with more than 73 points and cracked more than 100 too. Watch out Blanche! D is our 3rd leaderboard winner in 3 rounds! Can Deirdre keep this up in the Semi finals? We’ll find out after they’ve dropped!
How are the current top 15 looking after Round 3?
First of all, 11 of these names have all stayed on the leaderboard since Round 2, returning for Round 3! They are: Deirdre, Liz, Eva, Becky, Karen, Blanche, Fred, Jason, Hayley, Kylie, and Lloyd!
Karen and Fred only finally came into their own in Round 2, but Deirdre, Liz, Eva, Becky, Blanche, Jason, Hayley, Kylie, and Lloyd have never ever fell off any leaderboards yet so as we head into the Semis, you should keep a eye on these 9, who stand a really good chance of making the Final, but especially Liz, Eva, and Jason, these 3 have just got better and better since Round 1, despite scores worsening for them all in Round 3, they haven’t ever dropped down the board!
Interestingly enough, we also have some returning names on the leaderboard this round which hasn’t happened yet! Rosie Webster, Schmeichel the Great Dane, and Mike Baldwin have all gone back on the leaderboard. All 3 of them were able to reach the Round 1 leaderboard, in 3rd, 16th, and 12th respectively, but in Round 2 they failed to rejoin. Now with the Semi finals just hours away from kick off, their timing couldn’t have been better, as all 3 are back on the leaderboard in Round 3, and they mean business! Mike has done the best though, he’s peaked at runner up!
We’ve also got a new entry, as Martin Platt has entered the leaderboard for the first time at number 13. But how long can he stay there? Can he make the final leaderboard of the game too? Find out after the Semi finals!
Exits from leaderboard since Round 2
Gone from the leaderboard since Round 2 are Curly Watts, Bethany Platt, Graeme Proctor, Ashley Peacock, Eccles the Border Terrier, and Les Battersby, who were all eliminated in Round 3! Cerberus, Shelley, and Tina have also been booted out of the leaderboard, the first time this has ever happened for Cerberus and Tina, despite them all going through to the Semis
The benchmark score to beat has changed again since Round 2, back in Round 2 to reach the top 20 you would need at least 56 points. This round it is 44!
Now let’s see whose performance or score has improved or worsened the most in Round 3!
Biggest climber- Karen Phillips/McDonald- up 7
Biggest faller- Hayley Cropper- down 10
After winning two heats back to back, and remaining on the leaderboard one Round later, Karen is continuing to improve since Round 2, where she entered the leaderboard for the first time ever! She has ended the round a peak position of 7, 7 places higher than her original ranking of number 13 back in Round 2. At 13, back in Round 2 Karen was close to leaving the leaderboard. But she’s pulled it back this round, as despite her winning score being lower than her first winning score, she has managed to beat 8 other names with less points, explaining her climb
Also on the rise at the end of Round 3 is Deirdre, who moves up the leaderboard 5 places, all the way to the top of the board for the first time ever, after knocking off her mum Blanche. Deirdre also remains with a perfect game, having won all 3 of her heats so far!
Eva continues to rise too, peaking at fourth now after a 3 step climb and yet another victory under her belt. Liz has risen 2 places too, to 3rd, also with another win, while Jason has got 2 jumps despite still not winning a heat yet. With the Semi final just round the corner, these rises have put Karen, Deirdre, Eva, Liz, and Jason in good stead to potentially make the final, especially since the last two leaderboard winners have dropped! We’ll get to that in a sec
Yep, on the fallers front, past leaderboard toppers Blanche and Hayley have both dropped down each! This is a major shock to me, Hayley topped the Round 1 leaderboard by a landslide, while Blanche was at the top of the Round 2 leaderboard, with Hayley just below her. I thought these two were shoe ins for top 2 of the whole game. Now I’m not so sure anymore. Hayley is the biggest faller of the round, dropping 10 places. And with the first Semi final coming today, things don’t bode well for these two legends at all atm. Round 3 saw Hayley lose her first ever heat, while Blanche won her third consecutive heat, but her winning score is really underwhelming compared to some other heat winners, which is not good. This is really not the time for falling!
Kylie has also fallen down the board yet again, after peaking at 4 in Round 1 she’s been going downhill ever since, but this is her biggest drop yet, she’s down 8! Her timing couldn’t have been worse. Big sister Becky is down 3 from Round 2, while Fred has dropped 2 too
And let’s not forget about Lloyd, he’s down 6 after peaking at number 16. Lloyd is yet another one who needs to get his finger out if he is wanting to make the Final, cos it’s not looking good for him at all!
Perfect Gamers
3 rounds later, we’ve now only got just 4 names on here. And they are:
Liz McDonald
Eva Price
Blanche Hunt
Deirdre Barlow
These 4 ladies are the 4 strongest players of the whole game, and as well as all being women, they all have something else in common too- all of them have won all heats they’ve had so far. Who can stay a perfect gamer after the Semi finals? Can any of them reach the Final?
Hope you enjoyed reading the newest leaderboard and seeing how much things have changed in round 3. If there’s anything at all you want to say, feel free to comment! We love hearing from you!
That’s us done now til 3, when I’ll be back with the first Semi! If I can’t post it, my fiancé u/Swimming_Yoshi will!

long shot but, I remember having the best Chinese food in shelby while living in Montana. It was family owned and I remember one of the last times I was there the youngins told me the owners were retiring but they we’re planning on reopening at a new location. Looking for any leads on the old restaurant name or family name so I can find new location.

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Last week I made a topic asking where I could discuss professional swimming and a bunch of people said they would be keen on here. So here is my first try at a few topics:

1. Australian Swimming Trials start on 13 June. Many swimmers have posted about starting their taper and a few have said they’re expecting some very fast times. Chalmers says he’s in the best space physically and mentally that he has been his whole career. Could he finally go sub 47?? He’s been 47.08 twice. Are any world records in danger?
   
2. Jack Cartwright was originally missing but has now been added for the 50-100-200 free. Abbey Connor announced her retirement two months ago at only 17 but has now appeared on the updated start list for 100 and 200 fly. What do these two have in store?
   
3. A number of names are off the list: Incerti, Atherton, Hodges, Strauch and Yang are all out. Australia already had trouble with the 100 and now lost its top two breaststrokers. Is Australia still in with a chance to win the women’s medley relay or is that cooked? Breast favours USA, Free favours Australia and Back and Fly are about even.
   
4. Penny Oleksiak has withdrawn from Worlds and Taylor Ruck remains injured. With those two missing, has Canada lost its chances of medalling (and auto-qualifying for Paris) in all 3 women’s relays? If both Oleksiak and Ruck were at full strength, Canada arguably had a shot at winning both the 200 free and 100 medley relays, but now might they be shut out from medals altogether? Will McIntosh be called on to swim the free leg of the medley relay?
   
5. Sydney Pickrem swam a 2:08.8 in season 200IM. That’s her second swim this year faster than bronze in Tokyo/Budapest. Is she in the hunt for a medal?
   
6. On the Brett Hawke Podcast it was reported that Daniel Wiffen has guaranteed he will win the 1500 at Worlds and break the World Record. Does he have a shot? Or is this a little too cocky for someone with limited international experience?
   

Let me know your thoughts!

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