《Olyoliose》 Preamble An excerpt from the Introduction to Olyoliose, Unclassified Beasts, from the Trevell Family Library What is an Olyoliose? That, my dear reader, is not a question for you or I. Nor was it a question that was asked by most of our ancestors. Not dragons, not fae, and certainly not ordinary wildlife. Instead, the Olyoliose is a blanket term for the strangest creatures in the New World. There was a wide spread of habitats, diets, and behaviors amongst the Olyoliose, but they are generally united by their otherworldly existence. For the fishermen of the Kathonian Sea, The Olyoliose was a giant squid with wings. A bright patch in the ocean was a spot to avoid, less you get snapped up in the giant fish¡¯s tentacles and beak. It was said that any survivor of such an encounter would gain the ability to speak to the beast. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. For the farmers of the Ijo Valley, the Olyoliose was a chimera. With the body of a lion, it had bug-like mandibles and wings of an eagle. The beast would swoop down and its prey would be eaten so fast that their bodies hadn''t even realized that they had died. Eventually the half-eaten corpses would collapse out of true hunger. And in one particular orphanage in El Taleeb, the Olyoliose took the shape of a white lizard, whose scales were soft as wool. The tiny creature would slip through open windows and would burrow into people¡¯s ears - eating sweet dreams and leaving behind nothing but nightmares. The Olyoliose is a catch-all for creatures of the new continent, that we are all learning more about. With thousands of tales passed from generation to generation, and this book will attempt to help build a foundations for readers to better understand and Generally accurate accounts, the diagrams and art is off. The notes on origins myths are very interesting. We need to pursue these leads to develop a better understanding as the dragon ambergris''s potential becomes more clear. - J.T. New Adelaide | Mr. Juan Sébastien A neon sign hung on the awning of Juan¡¯s Groceries - a plaster white building on the corner of Madison and Fairview. Fresh Fruits and Vegetables! Anthropomorphic, cartoon figures flanked the cursive words. A banana, a tomato, and a potato, all wearing sunglasses and silly, overconfident grins. Juan thought the signage was a great idea. Juan¡¯s Grocery was both a neighborhood institution, and misfit at the same time. The squat, one storey building anchored a series of connected buildings that wrapped around a small plaza. A combination of moonlight and street light illuminated the hand painted grocery signs that hung out the windows and the side of the building. 99 Cent Spring Onion Bunches Three for Five All Purpose Flour 2 Liters Any Pop, Two Dollars ¡­ And more! The Plaza was surrounded by tall high rises, apartment complexes, and metal-glass office buildings that rose up around the block in recent years. Juan owned the plaza before anyone wanted to be there, and he sure wasn''t selling to the developers who were resorting to skulduggery and harassment in effort to get him to sell. The only standalone building on the block was the Fairview station, the only lot in Juan¡¯s plaza that he was willing to sell - in this case to the city to place a subway station. It helped that the city gave the rest of Juan''s buildings very generous exemptions to city codes. The developers who disappeared and sued when the city was looking for land, reappeared when property values popped and looked at Juan¡¯s land with dollar signs. Juan, however, had no intention of turning his grocery store and the apartment buildings on his lot into anything but what it was today. Accessible groceries and affordable housing for refugees like he was a few years back was his prerogative, and he used his privileges liberally to build on attachments, levels, and add-ons to his buildings that a less scrupulous landowner would abuse. He didn''t care much for the young urban professionals that would move here but he welcomed their business and recognized that his little slice of the neighborhood gave them a reason to stay. Juan sighed as he pulled down the security gate for the store front and locked up. It was cold outside. He wished that the autumn''s in New Adelaide were less brisk. Tonight, Juan was planning on walking over to Maria''s spot for a nightcap before turning in. Maria ran the Library Lounge, a local bar with all the dive bar goodies along with an extensive book collection. Every other week, they would host story night, where the patrons would put down their books and turn their head towards a small stage, where different people would take turns telling stories. Instead of cutting across, Juan took the loop, walking along the perimeter of the plaza to look over the store fronts and say hi to the children playing outside their family businesses. ¡°How are you doing, Zeke?¡± Juan stopped in front of Ezekiel, the son of one of the older residents, who was smoking on the bench outside his mother''s salon. ¡°Sorry for the smoke,¡± the man mumbled, quickly putting out the cigarette in an ashtray that he had set by the bench. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. ¡°Not at all Zeke, I see you picked up smoking from your dad. Didn''t he quit recently?¡± ¡°Yeah, he did, doctors orders. But man, I get it now.¡± the young man looked down to his hands, taking out some rolling paper, folding it and unfolding it as he talked. ¡°I knocked my girl up Mr J.¡± the young man said solemnly. ¡°When did you find out? ¡°Yesterday¡­¡± Juan looked at the young man, he had watched Ezekiel as a baby when his parents were first setting up the shop. ¡°Tell your folks yet?¡± Zeke shook his head. It didn''t matter. ¡°She ain¡¯t keeping it¡­ I mean we aren''t ready, I certainly am not, we can''t afford it, it makes sense but¡­¡± The young man hesitated¡­ ¡°I was so happy and relieved when she said she wasn''t going to keep it. Though I was so scared before¡­ her saying no to the kid bailed me out, but now I¡¯m sad?¡± ¡°Sad?¡± Zeke paused again, before talking again. ¡°Do you think I¡¯m a go-nowhere fuckup? That I can''t step up?¡± The question came slowly, with a tremble on the delivery. These weren''t rhetorical, it wasn''t anger, it was fear. Terror, he was scared of his potential mediocrity. ¡°Hey,¡± the older man sat down next to the young man, ¡°No, I¡¯m sure you''d be able to. I''m sure she believes in you, but I don''t think either of you want to become who you¡¯d need to be now, instead, she is probably thinking about the you that you want to become¡­¡± Juan paused before continuing, ¡°Do you know who you want to be?¡± ¡°No¡­¡± Zeke drew a blank in his head. He thought of what he did with his friends after school, his part-time job, the conversations he had with parents, the forced ones he had with their friends, all things in the past. But the future? He couldn''t see pass walking across the stage and graduating. ¡°And neither does she. And she wants to find out, so¡­ yeah, it''s OK to feel a little sad, it''s OK to feel relieved, just be supportive all right? Wouldn''t you want to figure out who you are first before figuring out to be a parent?¡± The young man gave Juan a tight hug, burying his face in the older gentleman''s puffer jacket. They sat in silence for a bit, time pausing for a few minutes. They sat on the bench and stared across the Plaza. A train must have arrived - a steady flow of people trickled out from the underground and through the turnstiles and onto their next destination. A burly large man stepped out. The Plaza was quite wide, but it was clear who it was from a distance. ¡°A Hawaiian shirt in the winter? Is your dad crazy?¡± Juan had seen Ezekiel Senior in the winter before, but was always shocked at the man''s cold tolerance. Zeke looked at his father in the distance. Cringy dad jokes and questionable fashion choices aside, was his dad who he wanted to be? Juan looked at the young man who was examining his dad from a distance. ¡°Need to chat some more?¡± ¡°Not really Mr. J, thanks though.¡± Zeke released Juan from his arms and rubbed his eyes dry. He stood up, ready to process things alone. ¡°OK, well you just tell me OK, you have my number so don''t be afraid to call it. My smart phone is on at all times,¡± Juan pronounced the compound words separately. He took his ¡°smart phone¡± out of his pocket and wiggled it in front of Zeke, ¡°even an old fart like me can use a phone.¡± It made Zeke smile. The first one in the conversation. ¡°Ha, you funny man, thanks again.¡± the young man leaned over and picked up the ashtray on the floor. He smiled wryly at Juan and started to turn away and walk towards the Plaza.¡± As the young man walked further away, Juan hollered from the bench ¡°You should check out Maria''s bar tonight. I know you aren''t technically allowed in, but you and I will more or less average out. Zeke barely turned, ¡°Sure thing, I''ll let you know,¡± and continued to walk away, back into the complex surrounding the Plaza, and disappearing into the night. He flipped up his hoodie over his head. New Adelaide | The Library Lounge It took a few minutes before Juan got up. This was a heavier night than usual. He continued his walk, for a brief stretch following Zeke¡±a shadow, but instead of taking a right into the alley, he turned left to continue down the storefronts. He ended up saying hi to a few folk, some coming back from work, others starting their evening shifts. He ended up getting a handful of candies and a Christian brochure from a few grandmothers waiting by the bus stop for their church shuttle. He tossed the brochure out of sight but did pop a candy into his mouth. Mhmm, Tamarindo. His trip to the Library Lounge took longer than expected, and he had missed the first story. He came into the shop and found that Maria had been expecting him, reserving one of the last full tops for him. He hung his coat up by the entrance and scooted into the booth. It was a phone free bar but he wanted to keep an eye out for anything from Zeke. Maria would understand it. He ordered a caipirinha from the bartender, who gestured towards the booth - he¡¯d bring it over. Having sat down, a waitress came over and left a picture of water and a glass. ¡°Just in time Juan, want the usual?¡± A nod sufficed for an answer. Juan turned the glass around in his hand, before pouring a smooth pour of water, careful not to let any ice cubes tip over the lip. He didn''t want the clinking of the frozen water to break the ice. Story night was about to start. He looked over at the board, and read the lists of storytellers today. It was a good list. Maria wasn''t very tall, so she either had a really tall ladder or a stick, because the list almost stretched from the very top to the very bottom. The sign up sheet must have been full. The first person, as tradition had it, was new. Her name was Farah, and her slot started at 9. They all had half an hour to settle in some more. His usual came in, an espresso martini with sweet Dominican rum instead of vodka. His Caribbean sensibilities meant he could not not combine the two glorious elixirs. A waitress joked that he had his upper, downer, and hydration at all times. He wasn''t super sure what she had meant but got the general gist. The half hour went by fast. Juan did his fair share of people watching, watching people trickle in. It fun to speculate who was the storyteller and who was the audience. Which groups came to partake, which groups came as support. The dead giveaway was a small crib sheet - folded and unfolded many times before being tucked away into a pocket - that was opener energy. Tonight the opener, Farah, was a middle eastern woman - in her late 20s at most. She came with some friends who cheered her on. She walked on stage nervously, tapped the mic, and started. ??¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª A Car Wreck ¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª-?? So, I grew up in Rafah, Palestine, with my mother before coming to New Adelaide, and while many things have changed, some important, life threatening changes haven''t - my mother''s driving¡­ I swear I¡¯m shocked I¡¯m alive. Farah¡¯s voice was honey sweet and expressive - almost expressive as her hands that helped shape her works in the air. The gentle laughter in the room encouraged her. Earlier last week, I was waiting at a red light, where I suddenly was hearing the large, long drawn out honks. Sitting there confused, I watched as a car pulled up next to me in the turning lane, and low and behold, it was my mother. She waved enthusiastically at me, and somehow without looking, took off the moment the light turned green, sliding in front of me and zooming off. The woman should not be driving. Which is really what this story is about, my mother. Back when we were in Palestine, before we came as refugees. Many things were different about our lives back then, but one thing had stayed the same, her crazy, batshit driving. When I was in high school, my mom would help chauffeur me around, taking me to and from school. As would expect from my anecdote, she was, and still is, a reckless driver. One day, on our way to school, we were running late. Leaving the house in a rush, we literally left little dust clouds behind us. She took a turn way too fast. Somehow wreckless, until then. Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. Skreech, Crash. The car flipped and rolled, crashing into a concrete barrier. I jerked around in my seat. Thankfully, I had my seat belt on and as the car bounced back to the right side, I ended up swinging back up-right. When you think about reckless drivers, what do you see? Yes¡­. No seatbelt. I turned around to see my mom passed out, bleeding from the top of her head. And I - Farah gestured at her body - all 5 foot 2, maybe a little concussed, had to open the door and drag my mother out of the car. Unfortunately, the police were just across the street. They were looking down at their devices, lifting their heads up scanning the situation from a distance. Please don''t come. Please don''t come. Please don''t come. One of the policemen laughed and went back to his phone. Thank God. If you know, you know. You do not want the Israeli police to get involved. Sometimes, a car wreck isn''t a car wreck to them, and I know people who have gotten shot because their ¡°accident¡± seemed suspicious, or as a clear terror attack to them. It was easier to put a bullet between my eyes than face the risk of an IED. Or to be the judge, jury, and executioner for a botched assassination attempt. Seeing them turn around gave me some peace, and my mind was finally able to catch up to the situation. I was covered in blood, mostly my mother''s. ¡°Help! Help! Help!¡± I screamed for help at the bystanders, the people on the street. A few middle aged men in a nearby restaurant got up and jogged over to us. And mind you, this is in the Middle East, when sometimes, a story isn''t complete without some good old misogyny. ¡°This is what happens when we let women drive.¡± one of them yelled at his friend, as he lifted his leg over the concrete barricade. Something about the whole situation¡­ made me snap. I screamed. ¡°Go away¡± ¡°Gooooo aaawwwaaaayyyy!!!!¡± I screamed. The man looked at me offended, and disgusted. He called his friends off and they went back to their table, throwing dirty looks over to us as they continued with their brunch. I looked down again at my bloody hands and across at my mother. I looked back at the nonplussed police and the misogynistic men. Somehow, I felt better off without either of their help. And I went back to yelling for help. It took a while, and it was a blur, but I remember the ambulance¡­ the hospital¡­ the concerned look on my father''s face, my brother crying at the hospital bed. But I didn¡¯t remember who helped us, and I don¡¯t think it matters anymore, but as they say, the third time, the charm. But I do clearly remember my mom, the blood dripping down her forehead, staining both her clothes and the sand on the ground. I remember holding her hand, my fingers making out a weak pulse. The salty taste of my tears that flowed down my face. I was thinking about this story earlier today, as I was preparing for tonight, and my mother, once again, pulled up next to me again. Honked obnoxiously and yelled at me. I flipped her off. She looked at me, paused, mouth open in shock. It slowly curled into a smile, and she raised her hand, her middle finger unraveling out, and pulled off cackling. Blowing a red light. In a busy street. Not a care in the world. My mother, and we just live in her world. ??¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª-?? Appreciative applause went around the room, and Farah beamed as she walked off stage. Apparently, it was her first time telling the story outside some close friends, who got up to hug and kiss her in celebration. It would be a few minutes before the next one. The staff was going around the room taking orders and delivering food and drink. Before Juan was going to take the chance to take a quick smoke break - and got out of the booth. The whole thing was wasted on just one person. He stacked and collected the cups and brought it to the bar. He paid and tipped. He would be back, but wanted to close out before he took a step out to smoke. Two heavy stories were unleashed on him in short order, and he needed a nicotine break. He pulled out his phone, checking that no one had texted him. He was trying to keep an eye on Zeke. No new messages, no new calls. He decided to text Zeke to check if he was ok. As he fiddled with his phone in his hand, he raised his other to open the door. It swung in fast and hard; A woman fell backward through the door and into him, bowling him into the ground. As they got up, Juan made awkward eye contact with the younger woman - who looked to be in her early thirties. And that is how Juan met Juliette. New Adelaide | Julliette Before her disastrous entrance into the library lounge, Jules was already having a chaotic day. Jules and her friends stepped out of the subway car and into the brisk November weather just a few minutes ago. The girlfriends had just moved to New Adelaide and made it a recurring habit each week to meet somewhere fun for dinner and go to the Library Lounge to listen to stories on Storyteller Nights every other week. This week, they had Thai food all the way in Little Thailand, which made the ride to the Library Lounge a longer than usual. Thankfully, Fairview station''s main exit opened up a few storefronts away from Library Lounge. ¡°Come on now!¡± Jules, ¡°I want to get us a table!¡± She powered to the front of the group and exited the turnstile. Looking back to a few reassuring smiles The young women finished their bobas and fruit teas that they were sipping on and tossed them into a handy waste bin, following after Jules one after another. In their rush, one of the girls stepped in front of a hooded teen, who knocked her down on the floor. He apologized and helped her up before running off again. ¡°The poor boy was almost in tears, he felt so bad¡­¡± she said afterwards, which was almost good enough for Jules, who was already in momma bear mode - she told her friend to check her pockets and purse - everything was still there. After dusting themselves off, they continued to make their way to Maria''s at one point making a quick penguin walk as they shuffled towards the bar. Not wanting to expose her hands, Jules turned around, using her butt to push the doors behind her. The first door opened just fine, and the gaggle of girls crowded into the covered waiting area set up outside the restaurant. Noticing an empty booth near the front, Jules excitedly turned around to tell her friends, as she eagerly backed into the second door, which¡­ fell out from behind her. ¡°OUCH¡± she heard from behind her, from the random person who broke her fall. It was an older black man who had caught her fall. Are you alright?¡¯ He had a distinct Trinidadian accent. She could smell a little rum on his breath though he seemed all there. Dressed in a shirt and jeans, he looked younger than he probably was - his scruffy beard gave that away. He lifted her off of his lap and onto the ground beside them. Another bar patron helped him up, and he in turn offered his hand to Jules. Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. She reached up for his hand and grasped it. Pulled up onto her feet in a swift, yet gentle motion. Before she could say thanks, the building rumbled. A light murmur that made the lighting jingle and bottles of liquor jostled on the shelves - making ringing noises that bounced around the room. Everyone braced themselves - those who were standing rebalanced themselves. Jules, of course, fell down again. This time quickly getting back on her feet by herself, intuitively crouching down ever so slightly to lower her center of gravity. What was that? Someone from the back of the room yelled. Dozens of people brought out their phones, raising the bright blue lights to their faces. In a dark bar, it was as if each and everyone was shining a flashlight to their face. ¡°It looks like there was a random earthquake, " one of the younger men yelled out. Nothing from the National Emergency Council - we should be fine. My discord is blowing up with people talking about it, so it''s not just us.¡± As everyone processed the information, they were comforted by the almost non-stop buzzing from friends and family sharing that they were all right. Jules checked her phone, nothing. She was with all her friends and couldn''t imagine anyone to¡­ Bloop, bloop. Two messages came in after quick succession Mom: AN EARTHQUAKE IS DESTROYING OUR HOME, WE ALMOST DIED. Dad: All good hon, just a little shake. A few dishes fell onto the ground. Mom: ARE YOU SAFE? Normally, Jules would be annoyed, they were a quarter of a world away, why would they feel the same earthquake? But against all odds, her mother was right. Jules: With my friends outside, we are all good. She felt a tap on her shoulder. Her friend pulled her out of the building, sternly holding a corner of her jacket, ¡°Let''s not stay inside the building,¡± They rushed out of the building, along with the majority of the other customers. They had to take a breath in order to process what just happened. It was a quick break, not longer than 5 or 6 minutes, but it was just long enough for the aftershock that rumbled the ground and shaked the buildings, knocking some of the people onto the ground. Alarms started to go off, it made Jules question how many loudhorns were installed in the city and where they were concealed. The blaring noise Standing outside in the Plaza, as far away from any building they could be, Jules, her friends looked up. She heard the chopping of a helicopter in the distance - the noise echoed through the city. ¡°Let''s go into the station!¡± Juliette yelled at her friends, they didn¡¯t know what was going on, but Juliette felt oddly exposed in the open air. She''d rather live longer covered in rubble, than to be pelted to death by the rubble of the skyscrapers that surrounded the plaza. New Adelaide | Olyoliose - Sabnock Liora is a lioness. She stared into the mirror, she threw her hair back, tossing it. Her golden hair was in loose curls that were carefully and deliberately straightened - just enough for the acknowledgment of her peers, but not enough to seem like she spent too much time on it. She chose her lipstick for the night and applied it to her lips. I look good. She pressed a button under her table and the mirror slid to the right, revealing her jewelry. She chose a gold necklace. ¡°Liora. Let''s get going. ¡± Her husband stood by the door, lame man who had nothing going on but their wealth. They both knew that they had their own paramours to the side, but stuck together for nights like these - dinner parties for their investors. He had the money, and she had the foresight to buy up and consolidate land from the stupid idiots who had to sell their homes because they couldn''t afford the neighborhood - they should have managed their budgets better. She looked out of her window and looked down at the ugly little plaza that was surrounded by the modern, luxury high rises. They were lucky that she didn''t sue to get the little rathole condemned. That little plaza was putting a ceiling on property values and somehow kept attracting undesirables to the neighborhood. Fucking migrants that couldnt assimilate or grow up even if they tried. We give them a home and they can''t even adapt? Pathetic. They were picky beggars too. She has been trying to hire some janitors and housekeep for her buildings and no one was biting. She was even paying a good wage, sure it was the minimum wage, but it was probably what they would make in a year in their countries. The government gave the leeches too much. She heard a tapping. Her husband was still waiting for a response. She got up, ¡°I''m ready, let''s go.¡± They walked through their long hallway to get to the stairwell leading up the roof of their penthouse apartment. She felt his hand awkwardly claw for hers and she brushed them off. The agreement was to stick together, not necessarily be together. They walked out to a large dining table set up, her guests mostly standing around in small clumps chatting as they waited for their hosts. Their teenage son was off in a corner, chatting with some uncle - some cousin of her husband known for his wandering hands. She called for the maid to watch over the two. She sat down at her place at the end of the table along with her husband. ¡°Thanks everyone for coming. Greg and I are delighted to welcome everyone to our home. It''s been a challenging couple of years for the development industry, with rising interest rates and rising costs of living across the board, we have had a challenging environment where occupancy rates have struggled to keep up with our desired profitabil¡­¡± Ring. Ring. Ring. A phone rang. Liora¡¯s eye twitched. One of her guests pulled out his phone, checked the caller and swiped out of the call. He mumbled an apology and looked awkwardly at Liora, who glared at him. Before she had a chance to say anything else, everyone''s phone started to go off. Alerts ringing. Everyone started looking at their friends, trying to figure out what was triggering their alarms. ¡°What is going on?¡± Liora looked at her phone. It was from her head of security. Find shelter, make your way to the emergency stairwell and descend to the safe room basement. National Emergency Alarm Eminent. Don''t use the elevator. Surely he wasn''t expecting them to walk down the stairs from the penthouse.Plus, they had their own private elevator - from the ground floor to the top - hidden away from the other residents in the tower. The guests stayed calm, their own guards and drivers were on their way to escort their patrons down.Most of them hired ex-military, often single, but always available at their beck and call. The life insurance policies were generous, as was their pay, there were no qualms in pushing people aside to guarantee the safety of their employers. Coming up, head down the south stairwells, Catch you on the way up. DO NOT CHANGE CLOTHES. CHANGE INTO BETTER SHOES. Liora sighed, she expected more composure from her head of security, depending on the outcome of the night, she may need a new one. She turned to her husband, who was chatting away with a guest, before realizing that he certainly had no more idea of where her son was than she did. This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. She found the maid, trembling in a corner, her hands clasped in prayer. ¡°FIND MY SON!¡± She screamed at the young woman, who was shellshocked into cohesion. Liora clapped her hands with each syllable. The maid pushed herself up, her legs trembling like a newborn fawn, and went off to look for the child. Look! One of the guests yelled. He pointed out the window at a helicopter that was passing by, it v ??¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª Reflection ¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª-?? When Liora regained consciousness, she found herself sitting down and strapped down. It was pitch black, though she felt like she could see the roles that tied her to a chair, and the door that was almost certainly the entrance to the small,holding her captive. She writhed for a few minutes, trying to break out of her bondage. She went from uncertainty, to panic, to rage. She screamed, quickly regretting it as the echo screamed back in full. ¡°LET. ME. FREE¡± FREE Free. free. The was a pause and in response, she heard the clunk and hum of a power breaker being turned on. As the echo bounced through the room, it suddenly cut off. CLUNK Clunk clu- The lights suddenly turned on. Liora had to close her eyes, wincing as the bright light blinded HER. A gush of fresh air blew in, rustling her hair and blowing past her ear. She opened her eyes. She found herself not in a small room, but in nature. She could see beautiful white capped mountains in the distance and the flowing waves of tall grass, that billowed with the wind. It was majestic. It reminded her of the Italian Dolomite alps, where she went last spring for her birthday. It seemed like a scene from a dream then, and what played would fit in a fantasy as well. It was what was different. The sky was a sickly pale purple and she could see what appeared to be a moon, hanging in the sky. About the size of a dinner plate, even in the distance, the natural satellite was clearly immeasurably large and intimidatingly close. She could see it slowly move across the sky. Click click click click click. She pivoted her head back down in front of her, to the edge of the Grassy plain that had somehow crept up right in front of her, was it the grass that made the noise? TIme suddenly started to speed up. The moon shot across the sky - over and over again, the long grass wilting, decaying, growing all whilst jerking back and forth. It was dozens if not hundreds of cycles - enough to see a forest to start to grow. She saw the trees sprout and grow from sprouts to young saplings and from saplings to trees. The ever growing grass were like theater curtains, as if mother nature was swapping out props in the background, the trees growing foot by foot before reaching their maturity, before they started to wilt and decay as if collapsing on their own weight and returning into the ground. Hi Liora. A voice projected straight into her head. The grass curtain drew back once again to reveal¡­a thing. It looked like a short mannequin, the size of a small child. Its smooth nondescript body was porcelain white. It stepped forward and unveiled a pair of silvery, shimmering wings that unfolded from its back. It had no facial features, its head was smooth white ceramic. It walked forward in a silky smooth motion and got right in front of her face. Raising a hand, it traced Liora¡¯s face before grabbing the hair on the back of her head and slamming its face straight into Liora¡¯s. Liora was staggered by the sudden headbutt. It felt like she hit a wall. Her head snapped back in recoil and her ears rang. It seemed like the thing didn''t let go of her hair, and she felt like she was scalped. She only felt pain. I''m going to kill you, she thought. She paused and opened her eyes. The thing now had a face. A misshapen face. Red lipstick was slathered over its bulbous lips. Artificially high cheekbones just accentuated the work done on a seemingly plastic face. An adult head on a child sized body. It held Liora¡¯s hair in its hands, awkwardly placing the hair on its own head. The hair slid over and down onto the ground, the golden hairs laid on the ground next to its feet. It recognized Liora¡¯s confusion and started to speak. ¡°Don''t recognize me?¡± its voice was out of sync with its mouth, but if it meant to be sarcastic, it got that right. It took a second but Liora realized that she was looking at herself? ¡°Ugly¡­ So ugly.¡± the creature said, its voice was sad, and uncoordinated with its newly developed lips, that twitched and flapped chaotically. Liora tried to scream but her mouth wasn''t there anymore. She ran her fingers over her face, ??¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª-?? On the penthouse floor. Liora¡¯s body lay prone on the ground as the first responders were making their rounds, checking on and attempting to save the lives of their various benefactors. It wasn''t long, but it took a few minutes for the medics to make their way to the older woman, One of the paramedics rushed over. Getting on his knee, he lifted Liora¡¯s arm to take a pulse for the arm to pop right off. Blood gushed from the appendage yet where one would expect the limb to connect¡­ was blank, flat, pulsating. Stunned, the parametric held the bleeding limb in his hands. He could only watch as the body started to shine, the limbs starting to detach, and he watched as Liora¡¯s chest started to rise and grow. A flash was the last thing he saw, before his face was blown off. New Adelaide | The End of the Beginning BOOM! The top of the skyscraper exploded violently, a cloud of dust and smoke billowing from the wreckage. Beneath the moonlight, one could see rainbows, forming from the refraction stemming from the glass and steel shards that were about to rain on the streets below. Emerging from the smoke was a giant torso. No head, no arms, no waist, no legs. It was white like marble, its curves shining under the moonlight. It groaned, the noise vibrating, penetrating through the bedrock and deep underground, echoing through the subway station where the people hid. Juan looked up at the rattling lights as he helped shepherd the crowd of refugees deeper into the tunnel system. He noticed Juliette running by. Its body started to shimmer, before starting to hum. Like a snake charmer, it pulled the steel beams away from the skyscrapers around it. The steel beams stretched from the ground to reach the floating body. Once they reached the body, the beams snaked around the torso and tightened around the breasts, boxing them in like shibari rope. Having tied themselves to an anchor, they pulled up the rest of their bodies from the building and from the foundations rooted into the ground. Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! Hundreds upon hundreds of floors started to collapse upon themselves, as their steel skeletons abandoned their body to join the one in the sky, quickly covering the marble body and clinging like skin tight spandex. I am going to kill you all. You Filth. You Dirty Scum. A telepathic voice boomed from the body. The air vibrated like a heavy bass, making smaller pebbles bounce around. A giant foot formed in the air under the torso and slammed down repeatedly, flattening the Plaza, she oh so hated. The entire underground station shook. Mid-rage, the giant steel foot turned into dust when it hit the ground for the second time, turning into a cloud of steel dust. Gusts of dust were pushed down the exit stairs, knocking people closer to the entrance down onto the ground, their lungs filled with concrete and glass. Most were fine initially, before coughing up blood and crying in unbearable pain later. A few influencers were recording their escape for prosperity, though unbeknownst to them, [Going to expand on this scene later - all we know is that these underground humans will be the most human, no matter how grotesque they evolve.] Trevell | The Jewel of the Adylian Ocean Family is complicated, and large families exponentially so. And nothing brings out complicated more than a family reunion. The intricacies and complications of such a family reunion were not lost to the Grand Duke and Duchess Trevell. For centuries, their household have readily hosted members close and far at their estate in the trade city of Qui?ha. And while there were grander venues across the family holdings, only the dynastic seat was appropriate for the week-long affair. The annual family gathering of the Trevell clan was eagerly anticipated every year by both the citizenry of Qui?ha and any nation that traded frequently with the city state. The various cousins and branch families would come from associated trading posts and cities with ships of goods and commodities - and while the family members would attend the festivities at the palace, their agents would work to set up tents and shops to introduce and sell goods from all other the world. It was the closest thing that the people on the Adylian Ocean had to a world fair. This would of course mean that the city was full of visitors, traders, and tourists, which the city of course, was well prepared for. There was a dedicated fairgrounds just outside the main city. This year the talk of the town was from the delegation of Olivia Tree, a landlocked kingdom far to the west. Their newest good, a magical flute made from Green Stone could help even the most musically inept whip out the most charming tune. Zarbey, of Zarbey¡¯s Trade Emporium Review, had given the product rave reviews - and he wasn¡¯t easily impressed. His publication office was the essential guide for the traders that flocked to Qui?ha and it wasn¡¯t surprising that his publication was usually the most anticipated release from the printing press. It¡¯s only peer in terms of reach and profitability was the dry-as-a-desert monthly newsletter from Madame Fautier, describing political updates and global commodity prices - who coincidentally, was his wife. So oddly enough, occasionally the reader would gather insight into the Fautiers¡¯ daily lives. This year, Zarbey¡¯s apparent infidelities on his business trips resulted in a tips and rewards page on Madame Fautier¡¯s. Which was followed by a call to action on the latest issue of Zarbey¡¯s for a gift appropriate to calm an angry wife - backfiring into a prolonged opinion piece on Fautier¡¯s about the foolishness and uselessness of husbands and a surprisingly handy guide on self-pleasure. A copy of this latest issue of Fautier¡¯s was handed out by the newsboys of Qui?ha free-of-charge to the attendees which had led to amusement to those who were in the loop and utter confusion by the random sailormen who were on shore leave. A wise businessperson could sell the two publications in a bundle for a reader to easily follow any evolving story in either trade or the Fautier¡¯s personal lives. Though at this point, most readers were diligently cataloging the publications in scrapbook, which became a generational experience Anyone who grew up in the Adylian Seas in the 1320s could prattle on about the whole saga, which at this point was just starting its petty decade-long run. This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. The Trevell''s personal lives on the other hand, was a little more hush-hush, if not due to the disappointing mundanity of their family reunion - no free-flowing barrels of alcohol, revolving door of party-goers, or illicit drugs there. As a well-established - if not ancient family - of the Adylian Archipelago - the dynasty was not known to be decadent (at least by royal standards), and historically the family heads were eager to disown troublemakers or adopt talented children into their family. This year''s reunion was sure to be an interesting one. While the Archipelago was peaceful, the southern kingdoms were hinting at war with one another. Just a few months ago, two delegates from the Tunda Kingdom and the Sumira Kingdom had arrived within days of one another, while they were hosted in different wings, the Duchess convinced them it was unreasonable for the hosts to attend two separate dinners that each day so the delegations ended up awkwardly sat next to one another as the Duke prattled on about his latest crop of ¡°almost pastel pink, and a few crops away from perfection¡± strawberry Bushes. By the end of it, between the ¡°no business over food rule¡± and general lack of commitment from the Duke, the two ambassadors had bonded over mutual boredom to the extent of negotiating a brief peace between the nations. However now the fragile peace was starting to break down and the two nations had restarted levying their armies. And the Duke couldn''t play dumb again. ??¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª Just a Crush ¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª-?? And you what now? Jonas put the paper down, confused, surprised, impressed, disgusted, admittedly, a tad aroused. Jonas had been on a cargo ship the last three months, sailing from Tundian port of Bekin, and had just arrived to Qui?ha. After a good clean scrub in a nearby inn, he and his crewmates were heading out to enjoy themselves and see the sights before a young boy handed Madan Faultier''s Monthly Newsletter to one of the ladies in the group, Isabella. He had run off before she had the chance to toss him a coin. Not eager to carry the newsletter throughout the night, she had convinced the group to sit down for a quick meal so they could catch up on events before trading the pages for bottles of liquor. However, having started reading the publication, she quickly realized it''s value as entertainment. Jonas looked glancingly at Isabella, sat at the other end of the table. She was laughing with some of her friends, clearly joking about the ending commentary in the newsletter. He couldn''t help notice how she ran her fingers around the rim of her drink. He blushed and looked away. Perhaps not too many drinks tonight. Juliya | What Follows the Death of a King A single rune. A single rune can make all the difference between life and death. And for King Arsalan, it was death. Emboldened by his set of enchanted armor, King Arsalan of Tunda was known to lead his men straight into battle, carving open enemy lines as a one-man vanguard. While he had a retinue of shock troops behind him, their collective notoriety stemmed solely from the back of the large nobleman, who would barrel down the battlefield on a warhorse, bearing his trusty shield and mace. However, in the Spring of the Wise Owl, King Arsalan was struck down. In a single blow. In his prime and height of his powers. On the first day of his campaign against the Amirati Union. He didn''t even make it through the first line of defence. He was intercepted on his approach by a single enemy, who swung a heavy glaive with such force that they cleaved the monarch in half. Arsalan¡¯s armor yielded, snagged on the blade, warping and losing its structure, eventually being pulled like the fabric of a flag waving through the air. As the metal form was stretched flat, Arsalan''s body was crushed in between. Blood, guts and flesh oozed out of the metal rag that was being swirled in the air on the tip of the glaive. His helm, unattached to the rest of the metal armor, protected his head that dangled awkwardly off the mass of metal and gore. Arsalan was removed from this world in an instant, his legend cut short with underwhelming swiftness. He died with his eyes open, shocked at his own mortality. Covered in their king''s splattered blood, Arsalan¡¯s troops stopped in their tracks. The dead king¡¯s opponent, Gwazi, the lion-headed kobold knight roared in victory. Gwazi swung his glaive in a wide swoop, the king''s malformed armor and body flug off the blade, hardened in the air, and crashed into a group of Tundian soldiers, knocking them off their feet. He raised his hand and cast a spell. Clouds quickly rolled over the overwise clear battlefield and a voice projected down from them, booming like the rumbling of lighting from afar, ¡°Run, take your king, and don¡¯t come back. You may have been allowed to run amok in your lands but don''t think you can do so in ours. ¡± Gwazi was strong. Stronger than any man and most kolbalds, but he was better known for his curiosities as a mage rather than his powers as a warrior. Unlike humans, the kolbalds had a more innate and shamanistic connection with magic, and that just meant that most never bothered to learn about the more tedious and limited magic that stemmed from runes and formulas - which was all the humans had access to. And with limitation came both persistent ingenuity and ignorant pride, even the most wordly of rune masters scoffed at the idea that the kolbalds would be able to understand the complex magics that took lifetimes to develop. Complex was the human word to describe their magic. Precise, is how Gwazi would explain it. As humans underestimated the kobald understanding of magic, most kobolds underestimated the efficiency of human magic. While weaker in nature, human magic needed specific counters that were hard to answer on the fly. And the lack of understanding meant that early skirmishes were one-sided, with desperate futile displays of kobold magic giving the humans confidence to escalate to full-fledged conflict. As Gwazi, had heard. He had collected enough war stories and anecdotes to hypothesise, design, and apply a single rune to bypass the specific mechanisms of King Arsalan¡¯s protection. Runes and magic circles were not inherently hard to make once understood, and if the whole army had the same protection magic as the king, the battle would have been one sided from the get go. Fortunately, for the kobolds, the monopoly of knowledge, and the necessity of a competitive edge between the different human kingdoms meant that magic tools were never mass produced and that the specific runes were hidden and concealed. In fact, the human effort to limit their competitors often outstripped their focus on advancing their own capabilities, a fortunate inefficiency for the kobalds. Upon hearing Gwazi¡¯s announcement, the humans retreated quickly. Years of preparations for a single bloodly night. The death of one somehow struck harder than the many more that gave their lives to get Arsalan to this stage - the doorsteps of the Kolbald lands. While Arsalan was beloved as a warrior of legend, the peasants were sick of being levied in his wars, though the true driver of the quick retreat were the commanding nobles who didn''t want to be away from courts, where a very different battle was to be fought over succession. Arsalan¡¯s conquests had created an unparalleled empire that was about to fracture once the news of his death percolated through the lands. However, the death of Arsalan, the Greatest of his Name, was a catalyst of what was to come. And Gwazi, the hero, faded into relative obscurity, his legacy contained to that one moment in history. He was commanded to build a fortress in the valley where he led the Amarati defense and was granted the rule of the surrounding borderlands, as the Amir of the Ericlyes Valley. In the capital and in the annals of history, his victory was simplified from a feat of magical inquiry into a mere tale of heroic strength. His fortress, strong as it was, was built with such practicality and effectiveness that it never saw another invasion. And his rule ensured general prosperity that faded into the records, overshadowed by devastating famines and decadent feasts seen in other provinces. The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. In the end, Gwazi was trusted with the Union¡¯s safety, yet was exiled to the borderlands to curtail the influence of his competency. Nor was a greedy king with unfathomable ambition, whose empire collapsed at the first loss of momentum. Gwazi was a footnote in Arsalan¡¯s ending, and practically forgotten outside his province, an endnote in Amarate history for a tragic war that never occurred. Though arguing about the historical importance of events mattered very little to those living in the moment - whose lives would irrevocably change from the death of a single man, thousands of miles away. As the news of the king''s death traveled, the various runecrafter found the news unsettling. How could someone outside of a runecrafting family figure out how the magic worked? What did the kolbalds use as a conduit? Living conduits were rare, Arsalan was one, power inherited through his mother''s side - a minor noble family with some runecasting blood. However, most people assumed that shoddy maintenance or expired magic emberstone was the cause of the armor¡¯s failure, putting the blame and the scrutiny solely on the royal runecrafters of Tunda. Who were told of the upcoming troubles by their friends and allies. The Solonovs knew they had to flee. Julija Solonova was enjoying her stroll in the garden when the news of Arsalan¡¯s death first hit.She was about to sit down on a bench when her aunt swooped from behind, quickly ushering the younger woman back in the mansion. ¡°Wait, Magda, what are you doing?¡± ¡°Ww need to go inside now. We are packing everything up.¡± The two women paced quickly across the cobblestone path and through the Rose Garden, one that was first started by Julija¡¯s grandmother, and whose care was passed along from one generation to another. ¡°What? Why?,¡± Julija asked. ¡°Your parents will explain some more when you get there. Your father and mother are already on their way from the workshop. Here, pack.¡± Magda had pulled Julija to her room. A large wooden chest sat in the middle of the room. ¡°Put everything you can in here.¡± Magda pointed at the open chest, ¡°Everything, anything of value. Don''t worry about the weight.¡± Julija heard the litter patter of feet from the hallway, her cousin had run down the hallway, and a similarly large chest swooshed behind her. Used first as a bassinet, then enchanted for flight and nearly endless storage, these chests followed members of the family through childhood, school, marriage, family and death. One would only pack up when going through a significant life change, and something was seriously wrong for the whole family to be packing up at once. Still uncertain of what was going on Julija ran to her closet and started to throw her clothes and belongings into the chest. In with her books, the debutante dress that she no longer fit in, the letters from her cousins and friends. Her aunt had a different focus, finding everything of value that Julia overlooked - all of the jewelry, silk linens, and the gold decor and accent pieces - straight into the chest. Julia wondered if she could put her desk into the chest, and her aunt, as if reading her mind, appeared on the other side of the desk. The two lifted the desk in one go, shuffling over above the chest and dropping it. SHOOOP. The desk was wider than the chest, but was sucked in. It was amazing how quickly one could pack away a lifetime of belongings in a few hours. ¡°Where should I go?¡± she asked her aunt, who was already starting to head to another room, ¡°go to the courtyard, your parents are almost here. Help your cousins load the carriage.¡± Juliya hurried downstairs, her chest floating behind her. The metal rim glowed, the runes under the metal trim glowing through the thin coat of copper. She just about made it to the courtyard when her parents had arrived. Coming fast in on a horse drawn carriage, they slid into the courtyard drifting right next to the small group that awaited them. ¡°Magda! Did you pack up the house?¡± Juliya¡¯s mother, Kalina, yelled up into the house, she bounced out of the passenger seat and went around to tie the horse to a post. Magda popped out a window on the second floor. ¡°Yes, I did, and everything in your room as well. We threw everything that we could grab in sight.¡± ¡°Thanks!,¡± the two yelled back, her father, Dusan, pulled out a ring of keys, carefully picking a tiny red key as he walked to the back of the carriage. ¡°Come,¡± he waved over to the children, ¡°bring your stuff, we are going to pack everything up into the wagon here.¡± Perhaps it was the adrenaline, but he struggled to unlock the carriage, it took two or two attempts for him to open up the lock and open up the swinging door. All it was was an empty space, deceptively deep, with enough room for all the chests and then some. Juliya ran into her father¡¯s arms, the floating chest that followed her zipped dangerously past the two, slamming into the back of the wagon. It made a groaning sound as it settled into the back corner. ¡°What is going on, why are we packing up, where are we going?¡± ¡°The king is dead my dear, and they think it is all our fault.¡± it was a simple explanation that begged more if time was a luxury. The last of the trucks floated on in. This time the various aunts and uncles who lived on the estate had arrived - they too with their own baggage that flew in quickly one after another. ¡°We aren''t welcome here, and to be honest, neither are the other families. The Foldfields and the Ankers are packing up their workshops right now - we''ll meet them on the crossroads. Between all three families, we¡¯d have enough money to charter a boat to a new life.¡± ¡°Isn''t this an overreaction?¡± aside from being an eavesdropper, Little Ivan had snark to him, the 5-year old stood with his arms crossed. Juliya wasn''t certain if she was glad or horrified that he asked the question. Dusan, wasn''t a perfect man, but in extreme stress, his fiery temper would cool down - a beneficial trait for the family head. He patted Ivan¡¯s head, who brushed the hand off with not a little dismay and concern. ¡°We need to leave. We were never welcome. Remember that King Arsalan was a child of a concubine who leveraged our talents to help skip the line of inheritance by tipping the scales for a challenge by combat. The main family will take over the throne and they won''t forget, eye for an eye. They will avenge their lost brothers¡­¡± ¡°Plus,¡± he said matter of factly, ¡°we aren''t fighters over here, just craftsmen and merchants. And we certainly don''t want to be royalty. Arsalan must have gotten it from his father''s side.¡± He patted the boy on his back, pushing him along, ¡°Now, go to your mother, tell them to make a line, you''ll be surprised to see how many people we can fit here. He turned to Juliya, quickly prescribing instructions to her. ¡°Juliya, listen carefully, you need to take this key here, the one with the ruby, and open up the carriage. Get all of the family in there. Once you are done, close and lock it again and be ready for us to come back.¡± He handed her the keychain to the carriage, and picked out a specific key, one that had citrine embedded into the key¡¯s bow, the elaborate metal plate attached to the shaft. ¡°If anyyhing goes wrong, and you think you are in danger, use this yellow key on the carriage. Trust me, and trust what is inside.¡± ¡°Now,¡± he turned around, ¡°I need to help your mother with the rest of the packing. I¡¯ll be back, and keep safe.¡± he cradled her head and kissed her forehead, ¡°see you soon my dear.¡± And he rushed off into the house. Juliya stood there, looking at her father run up the stairs before looking at the yellow key, a single unknown rune carved into the gemstone.