Gluten free bakery round rock

IE changes to velars (K) often seem irregular, and since these include k > x & *h > k, it is likely that PIE h1 = x^, h2 = x, h3 = xW.
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G. kúmbos ‘vessel/goblet’, Skt. kumbhá-s ‘japitchewater japot’, Av. xumba-
*xamanto-s > R. xomút ‘horse’s harness’, Li. kãmanos ‘leather bridle’
*k^alh- > L. calēre ‘be warm’, Lt. silt ‘grow warm’, salts, Li. šáltas ‘cold’, R. xolod ‘cold’
? > *xalpikiko-s > Slavic *xolpĭčĭkŭ ‘boy / young servant’, TB kālpśke ‘youth / boy’
*kaudh-? > OP xauda- ‘cap’, Av. xaōda- ‘helmet’
Skt. kardama- ‘mud’, NP xard ‘muddy place’
Skt. kharjura- ‘silver’, Greek árguros ‘silver’
*h3ost- > G. ostéon ‘bone’, OCS kostĭ, L. costa ‘rib’
*xWokW- >> L. oculus ‘eye’; *xWokW-ixto- >> Li. akytas ‘having eyes’, L. *xokwel-it- ‘having (one) eye’ > cocules ‘one-eyed’
*prdumxo- > Kh. purdùm ‘leopard’, Skt. prdakū-, prdākhu- ‘leopard/tigesnake’
*kxapros > OIc. hafr ‘male goat’, L. caper, *gGapro-s > OIr. gabor, *xałfros > Arm. k’ał ‘male goat’
*kenh- / *kanh- > Arm. kanxem ‘rise up/hurry/go first/arrive before’, OIr. cinim ‘spring / descend from’
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*kap-ye- > L. capiō ‘seize/take’, G. káptō ‘gulp down’, Go. hafjan, OIc hefja ‘lift’
*gab- > Arm. kapem ‘bind’
*ghabh- > L. habeō
(compare kapem ‘bind’ to Latvian kampt ‘seize/grasp’)
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Slavic *golumb- > R. goluboj ‘blue’, Baltic *golimb- > OPr. golimban ‘blue’, *gelumbiyā- > Li. gelumbė ‘blue kerchief/cloth’
Slavic *golumbi- ‘dove’
Sanskrit kalamba- / kaḍamba- / kadamba-, Greek kolumbís / kólumbos ‘diver (bird)’, Latin columba ‘dove, pigeon’
*š\salam(b)a\u > MArm. salam -u-, salamb -a- ‘(francolin?) partridge’
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*kwap- ‘smoke / steam’ > Lithuanian kvãpas ‘breath / odor’, *xwap- > Latin vapor
*k^witro- > Lithuanian švitràs ‘glasspaper / sandpaper’, *xwitro- > Latin vitrum ‘glass’
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? > *mxëlto > TA mkälto ‘young’, malto ‘in the first place’
? > *pesuxā- > TA puskāñ, TB passoñ ‘muscles’
? > *lewax^- > TA lu, pl. lwāk, TB luwo, pl. lwāsa ‘animal’
Skt. srákva- \ sṛkvaṇ- ‘corner of mouth’, TB *sǝrkwan- > *sǝrxwan- > särwāna (pl. tan.) ‘face’
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Most of these are already recognized as cognates, some are distputed. For Skt. kharjura- ‘silver’, Greek árguros ‘silver’ from PIE *h2arg^uro-, see https://www.reddit.com/IndoEuropean/comments/13umn3s/greek_kh%C3%A1lub_hardened_iron_steel_khalk%C3%B3s/ . Armenian and Celtic sometimes changing *ka- > *ga- (and g > k in Arm.) would explain some data, but this is not regular. Many of these might come from clusters like *k^x-. The similar *zg is also optional around IE:
*mezg- > L. mergō, Skt. májjati ‘submerge/sink’, *mezgu- > L. mergus ‘gull’, Skt. madgú-
*zgWes- ‘quench/extinguish / put out a fire’ > *djas- > Skt. dásyati be exhausted / despair, jása- \ dása-, etc.
*azgWolxo-? > G. ásbolos / asbólē ‘soot’, *ask^ülxo- > Arm. acuł / acux ‘soot/coal’
*presgWu-? G. présbus ‘old man’, Cr. preigus, Arm. erēc` ‘elder’
Some say *pres-gWh2u-? ‘coming before / ancestor’ is needed to explain Armenian erēc`, but I think acuł shows the same (caused by g > g^ before u (indicating u > ü as in Greek)). This would mean h2 was unneeded, and even K > K^ by u in Arm. is not regular.
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Just within Arm., the changes to K include k > k \ kh \ x \ *h > 0:
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Arm. kayt ‘mark on marble’, xayt \ xayc ‘mark/spot’, Skt. keta-, ketú- ‘mark/sign’, TB kāy ‘mark’
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OE sceolh ‘crooked’, G. skélos ‘leg’, skellós ‘crooked-legged’, Arm. šeł ‘slanting / crooked’, xeł ‘mutilated / lame’
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Arm. sałim ‘be mistaken’, sxalim ‘be mistaken / stumble’, sxalak ‘drunken’, Skt. skhálati ‘stumble’,
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G. skórodon / skórdon, Alb. hurdhë, Arm. xstor ‘garlic’
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Arm. mxrčem ‘immerse/dip’, mkrtem ‘immerse/dip / bathe/baptize’
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Skt. khād- ‘chew/bite/eat’, Arm. xacanem, kcanem ‘bite/sting’
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Arm. ozni, MArm. xozni / kozni, G. ekhînos, Skt. jáhakā-, Brahui ǰaǰak, YAv. dužuka-, NP žūža ‘hedgehog’
(compare kh vs. *h > 0 in G. khḗr ‘hedgehog’, L. ēr )
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Li. kárštas ‘hot’, Arm. xaršem ‘cook/burn’, Skt. kuṣāku- ‘burning’, *kurzd- > kūḍayāti, kuṇḍate ‘burn’
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*skandlo- > L. pl. scālae ‘ladder / flight of steps’, *sxandułxo- > Arm. pl. sanduł-k` / sandux-k` ‘laddestairs’
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G. khaláō ‘loosen/slacken’, Skt. khallate, Arm. xał ‘game/pastime’ (from ‘free / loose’ (compare L. laxus ))
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Arm. ktł- ‘burning desire’, xtił ‘tickling/lust’
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Skt. kartati ‘cut/slice’, Arm. ktrem ‘cut’, kotor \ ktor \ ktur-k’ ‘cut/share’, ktir-k’ ‘dowry’, hatu-ktir\kčir
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G. knḗthō ‘scratch/itch’, Arm. xaz ‘line (in hand) / scratch’
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If x, kh, and k were regular and separate, why would so many words show both? This is not limited to PIE *k(h), even PIE h > h \ 0 \ x has no set order:
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*h3od- ‘smell, stink, hate’ > L. oleō, odor, odī ‘I hate’, Arm. hot
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*h3owi- > L. ovis ‘sheep’, Arm. hovi-, *+pah2- > hoviw ‘shepherd’
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*h2awi- > L. avis, Arm. haw ‘bird / roostehen’, Moks xav
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*h2awo- > L. avus ‘grandfather’, Arm. haw
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*h2ak^o-sth2o- > G. akostḗ ‘barley’, Skt. apāṣṭhá- ‘barb of an arrow’, Arm. hawasti-k` ‘tassels of a belt’
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*h2ak^-st(h2t)i- > Li. akstìs \ akštìs ‘kind of skewer’, Arm. hask -i- ‘ear of grain’, Van xašk
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*h2ag^- > G. ágō ‘lead’, Arm. acem ‘bring/lead’
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*h2arh2mon- > Li. armuõ ‘arable land’, Arm. haravun-k’ ‘arable land / plow-land’, K’łi harmunk' ‘plowable soil softened by spring rains’
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*h1nek^-n- > Arm. hasanem ‘arrive at / reach / catch/take/get/gain’, Skt. naś-, L. nanciscor ‘get/reach/obtain’
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? > Arm. xełd- \ hełj- ‘drown/suffocate/strangle’, hełjamłjuk ‘drowned/suffocated’, młjuk- ‘strangle’
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*h3oid- > G. oîdos ‘swelling’, Oidí-pous, Arm. ayt -i- ‘cheek’, aytumn ‘swelling’, *xoyt’ > Łarabał xüt' ‘*swelling/*mound’ > ‘hillock’
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This works best if h2 = x and most x > h, some retained. Dialects with x- for older h- are more conservative, not innovative. The intermediate s > š > x fit Pamir data for Iranian (sk > šk, other s > x) and sw- > *xw- > kh- in both. Slavic also shows some s > x with no apparent cause. This also matches s > *x > x \ h \ 0, p > *xW > x \ h \ 0, completely bereft of regularity:
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*pewyo- > ogi \ hogi ‘soul/spirit’; *pew-ah2- > hewam ‘breathe heavily’
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Skt. pṛthuka- ‘child / young of animal’, G. pórtax \ pórtis (f) ‘calf’, Arm. ort’ -u- ‘calf/fawn’, xort’ -o- ‘stepson/adulterine’, Muš. xort’ ‘young (man)’
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Arm. ort’ ‘grapevine’, G. pórthos ‘shoot’
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*samhǝdho- > E. sand, G. ámathos, Arm. awaz, L. sabulum
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*kWyeh1-sk^e\o- > L. quiēscō ‘rest’, *sm- > Arm. hangč’im ‘rest’, Muš hang‘ ‘rest/breath’, Moks xangY
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? > Arm. boyl -i- ‘group (of people/deeetc)’, hoyl -i- ‘group of animals/people’, xoyl -i- ‘swelling/tumogland’, bołǰ ‘swelling/tumowound’
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Since *h at the start can remain as x, x within words shoud have the same explanation. This includes kanxem above (both k and x odd), and many in https://www.reddit.com/etymology/comments/w04cuz/importance_of_armenian_retention_of_h123/
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For PIE *w, a stage with w > GW (G = voiced velar fricative) makes sense (see Hrach Martirosyan). This also shows w > g / kh / x / v / 0 with no cause; it is likely that there was optional *G / *x then optional *x > kh. This is seen by supposed original *gWh = *GW > *x > kh in the other direction. This *x is retained in many examples, often with alternation:
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*widk^mt- > *GWic^amt- > *xis^anD- > k’san ’20’
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*gWhen- > G. eu-thenḗs ‘in abundance / wealth’, Arm. yo-gn / yo-k’’n ‘numerous/abundant’
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*wergY- > TA wärk-, TB wark- ‘shear’, Arm. gercem ‘shave / make bald’, k’ercem ‘shave / peel / strip off’
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*Gony- > xonǰim ‘be tired/exhausted’, *yoGn- > yognim / yok’nim ‘be(come) tired/exhausted/discouraged’
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*proh3-gWhen- ‘very abundant/large/great’ > G. parthénos ‘virgin’, Arm. aṙa-k’ini ‘valiant/courageous/virtuous/honest’
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*GorGuD / *xoruxD > xoroxt / xroxt ‘haughty/proud’, goṙoz ‘proud/arrogant’, goṙ ‘shout/fierce/bold/haughty/warlike’
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*wel > G. hélix ‘object with spiral shape’, Arm. xec’ ‘pot / shell (of mollusks)’, xec’ \ hec’ ‘felloe’
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*widhw- ‘(arms) apart / tree’ > *GüDG- > *gu(r)g- / *gi(r)k(h)- > Arm. girk-k’ ‘tree’, girk ‘arms/lap/bosom’, gog ‘lap/bosom’, *gurg ‘embrace’, girg ‘tendedelicate/soft’, ołǰ-a-gurem ‘greet / embrace’, gurgurel ‘cuddle/caress’
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and even Iran. loans seem to show a stage with GW and optional GW > v or GW > gh:
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*g^hew- > jagar ‘funnel’, *javar >> Gr. jabri
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*g^wah2lo-, *dz^walanō > Skt. jválana-s ‘fire’, Balochi jal ‘hot ashes / charcoal’, ? >> *azgal > Arm. gazał \ gazax ‘ashes/embers’
​
Arm. is also known for having odd changes to *r like Arm. kēt ‘biting fly’, kret ‘wasp’, among many others https://www.reddit.com/etymology/comments/zkgi2m/latin_pr%C4%93x_request_armenian_a%C5%82ersank_a%C5%82a%C4%8Dank/ . The simplest reason for some r > 0 is a uvular pronunciation R, common in many languages. If R became a fricative, as in French, it might merge with PIE h1, h2, h3 and disappear. The Dardic languages might show traces of this R, with r > x \ h in Kh. (or indirectly, with Rt > xt > th): Skt. vṛtra- ‘stone’, *vart(r)a- > Rom. barr, Kh. boxt \ boht \ bohrt ‘rock/stone’, Ks. bath, Ti. baṭ(h) ‘large rock’, Dm. bāṭ , Dv. wāt'
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If this *R is already needed for *r, including *k > *q to help make sense of IE optional treatments of K could work. PIE h1, h2, h3 and R sometimes disappeared; any uvular fricative to 0 would thus cover both. Pamir languages also show irregular K > Q, and their location relatively near Dardic, showing traces of the same, could explain that those on the fringes of IE territory shared this retention. This is not regular, yet orderly, fitting, and in step with common features seen around the world. It also allows many irregular changes to velar C’s to merge into one kind of optionality: K vs. Q. Even if this is not the exact cause, trying to understand broad changes by broad rules is better than coming up with an odd explanation for each oddity.
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Alb Albanian
Arm Armenian
Aro Aromanian
Asm Assamese
Av Avestan
Bal Baluchi
Be Bengali
Bg Bulgarian
Bu Burushaski
E English
EArm Eastern Armenian
G Greek
Go Gothic
H Hittite
Hi Hindi
Is Ishkashimi
It Italian
K Kassite
Kd Kurdish
Kho Khotanese
Khw Khwarezmian
Ku Kusunda
L Latin
Li Lithuanian
Lt Latvian
M Mitanni
Mh Marathi
MArm Middle Armenian
MW Middle Welsh
NHG New High German
MHG Middle High German
OHG Old High German
OBg Old Bulgarian
OBr Old Breton
OIc Old Icelandic
OIr Old Irish
OE Old English
ON Old Norse
OPr Old Prussian
OP Old Persian
MP Middle Persian
NP (New) Persian (Farsi)
Nw Norwegian
Os Ossetian
Phr Phrygian
Ps Pashto
R Russian
Ru Romanian\Rumanian
Sar Sarikoli
Shu Shughni
Skt Sanskrit
Sog Sogdian
TA Tocharian A
TB Tocharian B
W Welsh
Wx Wakhi
​
Gy Gypsy
Dv Domari \ Do:mva:ri:
Lv Lomavren
Rom Romani
​
Dardic Group
A Atshareetaá \ (older Palola < *Paaloolaá)
B Bangani
Ba bHaṭé-sa zíb \ Bhaṭeri
D Degaanó \ Degano
Dk Domaaki \ Domaá \ D.umaki
Dm Dameli
Gi Gultari
Id Indus Kohistani
Ka Kalam Kohistani \ Kalami \ Gawri \ Bashkarik
Kati
Kh Khowàr
Km Kashmiri
Ks Kalasha
KS Kundal Shahi
Kt ktívi kâtá vari
Kv Kâmvíri
Pl Paaluulaá
Pr Prasun
Ni Nišei-alâ
Np Nepali
Sa Saňu-vīri
Sh Shina
Ti Torwali
Wg Waigali \ Kalas.a-alâ

Honey, Sorghum Extract, Hops, Yeast and Water. It’s really good, tastes mostly like a hard cider with hops, but hey, want my brews to be more inclusive!
Came out to 5.5% ABV

Hey all!
Wanted to share a conscious gathering/festival that recently sprang up. It's called Movement Medicine and it's happening June 18th in Columbus. It'll feature different activities and experiences that facilitate healing, exploration and connection through movement such as: multiple ecstatic dances (fun, sober, conscious dance parties), yoga, cacao ceremony, sound healing, acro yoga, contact improv, tai chi, different workshops, tarot readings, massage therapy, acupuncture and more!
The gathering is bringing in Equanimous as their headliner who is a very talented artist from California who has a great stage presence when performing. It'll also feature sets from Dark Cherub (out of state) as well as their resident DJs, Onetree and Kofdrop.
It's an all day and all ages event (18+ after 10pm). Doors open at 7:30am and the event will go until 11pm. People can come and go as they please. There will also be a mystic market featuring awesome local vendors as well as food options (gluten free, vegan options available).
This gathering is designed for the conscious community of Columbus and of Ohio and its surrounding areas. If you enjoy moving your body and being with like minded people, this event is for you!
Click on the link for more info and to buy tickets
movementmedicinecolumbus.eventbrite.com

Hey all!
Wanted to share a conscious gathering/festival that recently sprang up. It's called Movement Medicine and it's happening June 18th in Columbus. It'll feature different activities and experiences that facilitate healing, exploration and connection through movement such as: multiple ecstatic dances (fun, sober, conscious dance parties), yoga, cacao ceremony, sound healing, acro yoga, contact improv, tai chi, different workshops, tarot readings, massage therapy, acupuncture and more!
The gathering is bringing in Equanimous as their headliner who is a very talented artist from California who has a great stage presence when performing. It'll also feature sets from Dark Cherub (out of state) as well as their resident DJs, Onetree and Kofdrop.
It's an all day and all ages event (18+ after 10pm). Doors open at 7:30am and the event will go until 11pm. People can come and go as they please. There will also be a mystic market featuring awesome local vendors as well as food options (gluten free, vegan options available).
This gathering is designed for the conscious community of Columbus and of Ohio and its surrounding areas. If you enjoy moving your body and being with like minded people, this event is for you!
Click on the link for more info and to buy tickets movementmedicinecolumbus.eventbrite.com

About me!
- Education: Some college
-Occupation: Amazon
- Religious: Atheist
- Political Leanings: Liberal / Leftist. Social Democrat / Georgist if we’re being specific
- Physical appearance: Heres some Photos
- Height: 6’2
- Interests: Reading, Fossil Hunting, Philosophy, Podcasts, Kayaking, Video Games, Exercising/ Fitness, Archery, Sports, Politics, History.
- Favorite color: Purple
- Favorite animal: The Red Panda or Raven
- Music Taste: Pretty much an enjoyer of everything from Rap and R&B to Punk Rock, Indie and alternative, Some Country and Blues, Jazz and even some Classical. I love it all!
- Drugs/alcohol? Socially drink
- Travel? Work keeps me from traveling more but I’ve been around.
Exposé:
For starters I’m a pretty quiet and introverted guy, I was always the kid that would sit in the back of the class and not peep a word. I will open up once I get to know you though, I’m often just in my own head. When I’m not at work which is most of my time as I work 10 hour days 5-6 days a week, I’m mostly in my room playing video games on my PC or reading whatever book I choose at the time or practicing my archery I’m mainly just a target shooter and not a hunter. I love to get out in the Florida weather and go kayaking or fossil hunting!
What I’m looking for:
I’m typically looking for someone who is down to earth, Ambitious, can laugh, joke and have a good sense of humor and has a lot of the same interests as me! Not saying we have to be exactly the same but I’m also looking for someone who doesn’t need me to be their whole personality but two halves to a whole. I also like it if the girl is a bit more outgoing just to be the yin to my yang as I can be quite shy and quiet.
I’m not saying looks aren’t important they are but I’m much bigger on personality! The only thing I care about as far as looks go is I’m looking for someone that takes care of themselves and their health! You don’t have to be a greek god or anything.
That’s pretty much everything for me! Sorry for the essay!
If you’re interested feel free to chat or message… I Hope to hear from you!

Hey all!
Wanted to share a conscious gathering/festival that recently sprang up. It's called Movement Medicine and it's happening June 18th in Columbus. It'll feature different activities and experiences that facilitate healing, exploration and connection through movement such as: multiple ecstatic dances (fun, sober, conscious dance parties), yoga, cacao ceremony, sound healing, acro yoga, contact improv, tai chi, different workshops, tarot readings, massage therapy, acupuncture and more!
The gathering is bringing in Equanimous as their headliner who is a very talented artist from California who has a great stage presence when performing. It'll also feature sets from Dark Cherub (out of state) as well as their resident DJs, Onetree and Kofdrop.
It's an all day and all ages event (18+ after 10pm). Doors open at 7:30am and the event will go until 11pm. People can come and go as they please. There will also be a mystic market featuring awesome local vendors as well as food options (gluten free, vegan options available).
This gathering is designed for the conscious community of Columbus and of Ohio and its surrounding areas. If you enjoy moving your body and being with like minded people, this event is for you!
Click on the link for more info
movementmedicinecolumbus.eventbrite.com

I like theory crafting. I have some big-picture questions. My understanding is that spamming a single ability is never enough to kill a good player with 30k hp. Draining them of their resources slowly seems okay for dueling, but in Cyrodiil they just run away or kite or find ways to easily reset. So there seems to be only one way left: Burst them down after a CC with delayed damage abilities that all hit at once.
Questions:

1. I play DK. If I can line up a Flames of Oblivion and Deep Breath to hit right as they take damage from Shattering Rocks while I hit them with the beefed-up Molten Whip, and auto-attack with Crushing Weapon, then would that be enough damage fast enough to kill them?
   
2. Roughly how many abilities and procs have to hit at once or at least within a couple of seconds in order to kill them and how would I calculate what would be enough to kill them based on my stats and theirs?
   
3. Is it worth running a set that frees up a slot on the bar? I'm thinking of running Mighty Chudan. This opens up a slot for Deep Breath and saves Magicka since I only have to use Deep Breath when I want to go in for a kill rather than every 20 seconds. It seems like a set would have to increase your damage by an unheard-of 20% to be worth running over a set that frees up a slot for a delayed damage ability. It has me thinking about Rattlecage too.
   

Thoughts:
Oakensoul seems ok, but I don’t think it’s worth 5 slots of potential delayed damage, healing abilities, and utility abilities like RAT. It just really limits the flexibility you have.
Snow Treaders can remove the need for snare removal ability. And if you go full move speed with Perfected Chaotic Whirlwind you can just chase them down while spamming abilities while they spend stamina on sprinting. Maybe that movement speed strategy could drain them without letting them escape since you can cast abilities while going max speed so they can't reset.

This is a continuation of my other story. Now I was disappointed that my phone call seemed to get no respect but after a week of thinking about it I decided I might be in the wrong. Each DM has their own way of handling things and their own rules, so who was I to tell another DM how to run their game. Maybe the best was yet to come, maybe I should try to embrace it more, maybe it wasn't so bad? I mean I was hanging out with friends and we were playing, making progress, and the story had to go somewhere right?
That entire session was near torture. The DM had not only ignored the advice I had given but had doubled down on the roleplay demands. Wanting us to describe our clothing, what were the colors, how did they go together, how did we put on our armor, what were we having for breakfast, who was cooking it, describe how we are walking, when we rest the horses, were we brushing our teeth! Most everyone was zoned out only answering short answers at this point and each answer was getting shorter and shorter. How no one had walked away from the table was beyond me.
Of course her boyfriend was super into it and trying to get everyone to play along between the copious amounts of encouraging her and PDA. Hour goes by like this and we break for camp. Nothing interesting has happened and nothing interesting has been described by her. We get our random roll and once again after we pick our number she says "Wow you're the luckiest group I've ever seen, no random encounter. Isn't that amazing?" She was all smiles and giggles like it was the best thing in the world while everyone else at the table was literally groaning.
Another hour of overly intensive roleplay where the veterans and myself had just given up. We wouldn't answer any of the roleplay stuff. What are you talking about? Stuff. Are you taking care of the horses? Yes. Well roleplay. We travel till we set up camp is there anything important? I can see Wizard is visibly angry, the new players besides Bard are now looking at memes on their phones, and cleric and I are just bored. Another camp sight set and another "lucky roll." With no encounter, and another round of groaning.
This continues and it is near the end of the session. We have done NOTHING. Now I will never say I am a great DM, I am passable. I can create a story that people have fun with but I am by no means perfect. That being said one thing I find myself doing even as a player is looking around the table and seeing how engaged people are with the story. From what I can see this group is going to fail and fail hard. Everyone is at their wits end and if something interesting doesn't happen we won't have a game. So when the time comes for her to roll the random encounter dice and pick a number I say. "We choose to fail it."
The DM looks at me and asks "What?" "We choose to fail it, right guy's? Bring on the encounter. No roll needed hit us with your worst." Cleric started to laugh knowing exactly what I was doing but nodded along. Wizard smiled and said "Sure we choose to fail." The other new players look from the DM to me, and back again. "Wait that's an option?" One asks and they both agree "Ok we fail what do we run into?" I'm happy because everyone is on the same page, there is no second guessing here, we all chose to fail the roll and have an encounter and if the DM was angry we all said bring on your worst. Cleric even brought up a saying from our old groups of "Bring it scruffy." meaning we'll take as hard a fight as you want to throw at us. No pulling punches.
DM "Excuse me, I am the DM here, I am running the game and I will remind you I am a professional who has done this for fifteen years. That is not how the rolls work, you don't get to choose if you fail or succeed now pick a number."
Wizard, Druid, Barbarian, and myself were all just done. we couldn't take it. Our heads in hands on on the table visibly upset by this but she was holding to her ruling. That's when Cleric spoke up. "I know you have DMed for fifteen years however a game like this where roleplay is intensive and heavy is something that a lot of people wouldn't sign up for. Breaking it up with puzzles and combat is good. So you have all your players volunteering to fail the roll. This is a cooperative game and we aren't trying to step on your toes, but we do wish for some action. Also keep in mind I have been playing since AD&D."
I nearly laughed at the little flex there that she had been playing so long and this younger girl couldn't compete with that. Cleric always had a way about her to command instant respect even from the most stubborn people. So the DM flipped through their book and said as we were setting up camp a large snake slithered into camp. Not the most exciting of encounters but it was something! Everyone rolled for initiative and Druid got to go first. They asked if they could roll their animal handling to tame the snake. Which wasn't a popular idea for the rest of the party who had murder in their eyes. The DM said sure and after a good roll the snake left. The session ended and we asked about XP.
DM "No XP." Me "What? But we've been doing a LOT of roleplay and we had an encounter. We've done everything you wanted." DM "I have been DMing for fifteen years and how I always run it is XP is only given for defeating monsters." Cleric "We defeated the snake." DM "No you tamed it you didn't kill it. It's alive so you didn't defeat it. See you next week."
I was seething! I was so angry I wanted to scream, I talked to everyone after the game and asked their feelings, we were all in agreement that we'd give it one more shot and if things didn't improve we would walk out. Usually I am a calm person but I went home called her up and gave her a piece of my mind. Explaining that it is stated in the rules how to give xp for roleplay, that defeating an encounter peacefully is still defeating it, and I went on to explain to her that if she kept up this boring, demanding, and tedious way of DMing that everyone was going to walk out.
The next week came about and we all made it very clear we were done with the ridiculous step by step of our day. We'd roleplay ONLY when there were NPC's to interact with, if there wasn't anything going on we wanted a time skip. So either dump the human drama that we want to get away form or leave. This must have woken her up a little because we did get a time skip. We went forward in time to where we were a couple of days away from delivering the package to the king. Along the road we saw a group of eight orcs coming our way. We asked if orcs were common or peaceful in this area and she said common yes peaceful no we could tell they were bandits. Initiative was rolled and we were all revved up for a fight!
Druid went first and sent his wolf companion ahead because it could reach the orcs before any of us. I was worried because that meant the orcs got a full two turn to pound on it before we could get there. However when it came the orcs turn The DM declared "The orcs walk forward." I smiled because it was a good call. Not realistic but this was a new player and killing their animal companion would have been bad. We all moved forward and the wolf got in one attack. Next turn the wolf attacks, we all move forward and the orcs move forward. There is 30 feet between us now so the fighter types rush up while the ranged types stay back. The orcs have Druid, his wolf, Barbarian, and Cleric all on their front lines. While Wizard, Bard and myself stay back. It's the orcs turn and I wait to see how they will battle the group. What tactics and such.
DM "The orcs walk forward." What? I am a bit lost as she moves the mini's forward on the map going around those that are currently combating them to get to the spell casters. We aren't even a big threat so why did they all move? Why did they give up free attacks to move and do nothing? They didn't even attack us when they could have just moved and waited. I was so confused and trying to think of any game reason this could be happening. Perhaps she had it out for me? If so why wasn't I attacked? My ac wasn't that high? Was there something else going on?
The new players were super into it though and on their turn moved behind to hammer at the orcs. It got to the orcs turn and the DM skipped over them going to my turn. Cleric, Wizard, and I all noticed this while the new players were obliviously cheering how well they were doing. The DM looked to me and asked what I was doing. "I'd like to roll insight and arcana." I rolled and got an 18, and a 16. "Do I notice anything off about the orcs? Eyes glazed over, slack jawed, seeming in a daze, moving oddly? Do I know of any spell that would cause this?"
DM shrugged "No, what are you doing?" I was still confused thinking this had to be magic of some kind. "Umm, I try to touch one. Can I make a save to see if it's an illusion?" DM "The orc is real." Me "I'll hold my action then. Also I think you skipped the orcs turn." DM "Oh right. The orcs move forward." And she moves the minis PAST me and everyone in the back line. The new players are whooping it up. "Yeah run away! We got you now." While the rest of us just stared. What was going on? Wizard took his turn and cast detect magic and askes if he senses anything off about the orcs. No magic to be sensed. So from here Wizard, Cleric, and I just hold our actions while the turns go by with the DM "forgetting" the orcs turns and the new players killing them. We got a bit of loot. Some rusty weapons, a small amount of silver and gold, and a tiny bit of XP. We fast forwarded to delivering the treasure to the king with a lot of roleplay because "There are NPC's here." so we had to roleplay every conversation with every guard, captain, knight, lesser noble, high nobility, royal, and what not at the party.
When the DM had left we all talked again and I asked "Ok what was that?" The new players asked what I meant and I pointed out "Think about the fight." Druid "yeah that was great my wolf did so much damage!" Barbarian "Did you see me? It was like they couldn't hit me!" Wizard "They couldn't." Barbarian "What?" Me "They couldn't hit you because they never attacked." Druid "Wait, didn't they?" Cleric "No they only walked forward. Didn't you notice we all stopped attacking them? She never rolled a single die and stopped calling out their turns all together." Barbarian and Druid looked back and forth from each other and then nodded like it just dawned on them. I asked what we should do and they pointed out the one noble had asked us to investigate some thefts at the town so there was hope for a better story. So we all agreed to continue, somehow keeping hope that this would get better.... See you in part three.

Got these at Walgreens this week.

This is an update of my first post 6 days ago.
Since A LOT of you wrote in private I decided to make this information public so I do not have to send it 10 times per day :) You are a GREAT community.
I am arriving on Saturday 3rd of June at 16:30. I will be staying in the USA until the 13th of June.
​
I have Jokić's Serbia National team jerseys READY :)
I got a lot of invites to participate in local news, podcast and radio shows. I rejected most of them but I will participated in two just to promote the Nuggets since they are really not as popular as they should be, even in Denver :(
​
Some of you suggested workout (which I did) and running (which I also did) to fight altitude sickness. I posted these only so you can see how I look like for easier meetings since I have no social media.
A lot of you suggested visiting a Rockies game and I will try to do that (I know ZERO things about baseball) and I will definitely visit Red Rocks. Probably a few museums, botanical gardens and A LOT OF BEER :)
Hopefully I will manage to get tickets for game 5 if there is one. But I do not plan to stay in Denver all of the time. Just for two days around Game 2 and two days around Game 5. Rest I will be hiking in National Parks and visiting Mesa Verde and probably some sites in North of New Mexico.
​
My backpack is packed. So see you all soon :D
​
For those who have not seen the original post:
So... I have sold my watch and spent most of my savings for Finals tickets and flights to Denver from Serbia.It unnecessary to say that I am very excited for my first NBA game... But what should I do in Denver while I'm there? I know NOTHING about Colorado, except that it is also a river, or about Denver except that it has an NBA team called the Nuggets.If anyone wants to have a beer 1st or 2nd week of June feel free to message me. I have been on nba since it was created (2009 or so) but I have been following Nuggets closely since 2015.

Hello again!
This one took longer to get out, not because it was a harder chapter for me to write or anything like that, but because I forgot to post and was busy writing the main story anyways. Challenge me on that, I dare you.
Nothing else really to say. Join the discord.
Previous/Main/Next/Discord!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Fries dragged himself towards the LZs, hoping that someone had somehow waited for him. He could see the area where the dropship had been landed and the troops gathered by the amount of insectoid bodies littering the area. Among them, he could see a shattered CEVA helmet on the ground, the operator or suit nowhere nearby.
He approached slowly, keeping his rifle up and trained on the bodies if they got back up. He went straight for the helmet, picking it up and inspecting it once he reached it. There was a hole in the faceplate and no exit wound, though there was blood, skull fragmentation, and brain matter on both the back of the helmet and faceplate.
“Shit…” Fries muttered, shaking his head as he set the helmet down. He was about to check the area more when his audio sensors picked up hissing in the air.
Fries dove for cover behind the body of one of the insectoids, being sure to cover the breach in his suit. While the mechanical pressurization of the main suit hadn’t been compromised, a blast to the flesh could still prove fatal to the ODST.
He waited for an impact that never came, and instead watched as two Kxa’vara transports flew overhead.
“Well, that ain’t somethin’ we were briefed on…” He mused to himself, standing up and starting to run in the direction he had watched the craft go in. He slung his rifle onto his back and turned up the mechanical assistance in the suit, allowing him to run at an incredible speed for an incredibly long period of time.
He followed in the direction of the craft for what felt like an hour, the suit feeding him nearly pure oxygen to continue at the pace he was at, until he suddenly stopped upon seeing where the two craft were hovering. In the side of a rock face a kilometer or two out that extended around 150 feet into there air, he could make out clay and rock “houses” either carved out of the rock or built up with the clay. He used the suit’s zoom function to scope the place out. Outside of the houses though, Fries couldn’t see anybody or anything. The two ships hovered above it, but there was nothing moving around.
Finally thinking he had enough information, Fries attached a suppressor to his rifle and started moving forward. He had barely gotten four steps forward when he saw more of the insectoid creatures. They were out at the “houses” trying to climb up and reach the dropship. He could make out the tracings of kinetic-plasma fire. He started running towards the “town” before he noticed six or so of the bugs coming towards him.
Without hesitation this time, he raised his rifle and cut them apart, their hard carapaces completely ineffective against the armor-penetrating 4.5x49mm rounds from the ODST’s weapon. He continued forward, reloading his rifle and checking his underbarrel launcher for a round. He wasn’t sure what his plan was, but it involved something with a Kxa’vara ship.
He had run about 100 meters before the next batch of bugs came at him, this time much closer than beforehand. The first one immediately lunged at him and caught his right arm’s utility spike to the skull, going limp as soon as he removed the spike from the skull. The next two creatures caught .388 SP pistol rounds to their heads as they approached, Fries opting to leave his rifle for later engagements. The last one also jumped at him, but was caught by the ODST mid air, slammed onto the ground, and had its head stomped in by a boot.
Fries exhaled sharply while looking at his handiwork before quickly running off in the same direction again, this time at a much faster pace than before. It only took him a few minutes to be within 200 meters of the two craft, which had seemingly not noticed him, despite the ever-growing horde of bugs behind him.
It looked as if there was a closed entrance to the “town”, mainly as there was a large gate surrounded by twenty-foot rock faces. He quickly looked behind him to see where the horde was before he gritted his teeth and jumped, firing his jumpjets as he leapt up. He extended his spike and jammed it into the wall, settling his feet into cracks and divots before pushing off again and firing the jumpjets again. He repeated this process a few times before making it to the top and climbing up to look at the situation.
The two transports were hovering about forty meters away, above the residence area and dumping fire into the bugs below them. He could see right away that Kinetic-Plasma was much less useful against the bugs than his bullets, but they also had infinitely more bullets to fire than he did.
With some semblance of a plan starting to come together in his head, he pulled a disruptor grenade off of his kit and armed it, having the suit start to calculate where he’d have to throw it to hit the first ship. As soon as it was locked in, the suit took complete control over his arm, waiting for Fries’ signal.
He let the suit do its thing and watched as the disruptor grenade flew through the air towards the craft. He regained control of his arm and brought his rifle up, bringing his right arm to the trigger of the underbarrel launcher. As soon as he watched the grenade flash away the enemy’s shields, he fired a 40mm grenade at the gravitational stabilizer he could see. The side of the craft was engulfed in smoke as the HEDP round exploded on contact with the ship’s hull.
Almost immediately, the ship listed to the side, unable to maintain attitude control from the loss of the stabilizer. Fries immediately switched targets and began thinking of what to do for the other transport. His rangefinder gave the range as 43 meters, and Fries’ mind immediately went to a “solution”.
He had another 71 meters per second of fuel left, around eight seconds of hover time in this gravity, or just around enough to get him into the craft.
Taking a deep breath, Fries took a runup before jumping off the ledge he was on and fired the jumpjets, accelerating himself towards the transport. He knew that the energy shields would stop bullets, but they wouldn’t stop him. He extended his utility spike and cranked the arm back, preparing to jam it into the ship’s hull. As soon as he hit the side, he stabbed his arm in, the spike piercing all the way through until his fist hit the craft. He quickly pulled his handgun out and aimed towards the opened door to his right. Surprisingly, nobody came to look at him, as they were too surprised to watch their comrades’ craft go down.
Without warning, the ship tilted over and flew over to support the downed aircraft as insectoid creatures swarmed towards it. Fries sank in closer to the craft as they moved, trying to make sure he was able to stay onboard. It quickly leveled out over the wreck, the gunners at the doors opening up on the approaching horde. The ODST spared no time and crawled along the hull towards the door, the distance seeming an incredibly long 6 feet away. Using his spike and the “hand”holds on the craft, he made it to a point where he could leave his left arm spiked in and still lean into the cabin.
There were two Vakasi on mounted guns firing out of the door opposite him. In the cockpit, a Volaxin and Jokall sat at the sticks, the latter’s scaled, bat-like wings stopping him from seeing further in. He had just drawn his handgun to shoot at the two gunners when he heard one of the pilots yell out, his shields immediately flaring up as a few rounds from the Volaxin’s KP handgun impacted him.
Recognizing the immediate threat, Fries put a bullet into the skull of the pilot. He took note of the bullet tearing its way through his skull and out the glass cockpit as he leaned in further, using the remaining fuel in his jumpjets to give him enough force to remove his left arm from the hull and push into the cabin.
Neither of the two Vakasi had enough time to turn around and raise their weapons before Fries had kicked the first one out, immediately turning on the other one and putting a bullet into his chest/neck carapace. His shields flared again as another round struck him. He quickly whipped around, ducking to the side and raising his pistol towards the cockpit.
The HUD quickly flashed a 46% warning as a few more KP rounds passed nearby the ODST, initiating the shield sensors.
He fired a few rounds at where he assumed the Jokall was, the bullets failing to penetrate the metal wall separating the cabin from the cockpit. Knowing that neither of them could currently shoot each other with the weapons they had out without coming through the door gap, he holstered his pistol and raised his rifle, aiming at the same spot on the metal wall as before. He fired six times into it, knowing he had successfully penetrated the wall when the ship suddenly listed forward. Quickly moving into the cockpit, he pulled the nearest body away from the controls and off their chair, immediately putting himself in control.
Unlike what he was hoping for, it wasn’t controlled by a joystick, but instead a floating sphere. It had holes in it like a bowling ball and glowing lines snaking across it, the ODST able to see no reason for them other than aesthetic purposes.
He grabbed onto the sphere and pulled back, failing to do anything other than partially pull the sphere out of the “gravity track” it was in. He attempted to pull up by rotating the ball towards himself, immediately causing the craft to snap its nose up to almost the exact degree he had just rotated the sphere to at incredible speeds.
He let out a small yelp as he started to rapidly lose altitude, the engines seemingly powered off suddenly.
He rotated the ball again, trying to level the craft out, but wound up tilting too far to the side. The sudden shift caused him to lose grip on the ball and brush one of the lines on it. The craft immediately accelerated towards where the nose was pointing; just below the horizon. He grabbed hold of the ball again, now somewhat having an idea of what to do.
He was about to start angling the craft when the starboard side caught something and threw him out of the seat, twisting the craft out of position and sending it to the ground. Fries had already curled himself into a ball as much as the ECS would allow, the suit’s thick armor keeping him from getting as tight as he wanted to be.
He uncurled and stood before the craft had even come to a stop, trying to find a good standing position to fight from while standing on the side of the glass canopy of the transport. Clearly, the craft had stayed on its side during the crash. He brought his rifle to his shoulder and started moving towards the door.
Almost immediately he could hear the skittering of legs on metal, and two of the smaller insectoids dropped into the cabin. Wasting no time, he brought the rifle up and shot them, moving out of the cockpit and pulling himself out of the cabin and on top of the craft.
He looked around and froze up, immediately seeing that the craft was surrounded by insectoids. In front of him, two large bugs looked at him. They towered above everything else, being an easy 12 feet in height.
While he was trying to think of his next course of action, he realized that the bugs were not advancing on him. They were all holding around 30 meters out from the wreck.
“Well? Come on then!” He yelled out, putting a fresh magazine into his rifle.
Still, the creatures didn’t move. He kept his eyes on the big ones, waiting to see if they would make the first move.
“Computer, recharge shielding. Prepare to use shields to counter direct hand-to-hand impacts.” He whispered in his helmet, using the time they were paused to ready himself for one final engagement.
He almost opened fire as he saw the two big creatures shift. However, they moved off to the side instead of towards him, though none of the smaller ones did anything. He was trying to gauge what they were doing when he noticed a creature, one he would hesitate to call “humanoid” but definitely bipedal, tentatively approaching past the big creatures.
It was still some thirty meters away when the ODST zeroed his rifle onto it. He restrained himself from pulling the trigger, but instead used his suit’s imaging systems to get a better look at the creature.
Surprisingly, it was very familiar in a vague part of his mind. Though he was sure he hadn’t seen one of these before, something told him that it was very familiar.
“Computer… bring up helmetcam footage of March 27th, 23:47…” He muttered, trying to pay attention to both the creatures around him and the HUD footage.
He watched through the footage, still keeping his rifle on the slowly approaching creature. He had nearly given up on finding anything and shutting off the video when he noticed something that again nearly made him shoot the creature.
He watched as he entered Zeta Zero, the ship’s main meltdown runaway room, where four CEVA Marines were guarding the door, two inside and two outside. A scientist and a medical officer were also inside, also wearing EVA suits. In the middle of the room, strapped down to a medical bed with metal clamps, was the empath.
The empath was a bit different from the creature now only 20 meters away, but they were most certainly the same creature.

Hey there! I’m (I’ll tell you my real name in dms as to avoid the rare chance of one of my friends finding this). I’m an 18 year old girl from the states, south New Jersey specifically. I’m bi so if you’re a girl or boy it doesn’t matter.
I’m not looking for anything serious at the moment. Just someone to get to know. If you fit any of these standards feel free to message me:

• I’m quite mature for my age, and I like someone with similar maturity. -I’m not interested in anyone over 20, or anyone under 16, so please keep scrolling if you are either of those things. -I’m a sucker for dark hair and eyes though this isn’t a must. -you must introduce yourself in your message to me. Please don’t waste my time as I will not respond to just a “hey”.

A bit about me, I love 80s rock, cars (I do model cars), I draw, and love video games. I have one Helluva sense of humor (in my opinion), and am a quite sarcastic individual (though I can be serious if need be) I’m also starting a band. As far as looks, I’m 5’2 (and a half 😡), about 155 lbs (though I’m currently on a weigh loss journey), I have gray/blue eyes and long-ish light blonde hair. My style’s kinda tomboy-ish, so that’s pretty cool.
If you made it to the end, congratulations, you get a cookie. Please put the word “vanilla” somewhere in your post so I know you read the whole thing. And say something that will catch my attention. If I find you interesting I’ll reply.

I know wheat flour is a gold standard, but I need something gluten free. I’ve tried on multiple GF sites and groups to find the best starch for this, but people just recommend any starch they have on hand.
I’ve tried a few different starches and gf flour mixes and haven’t found one that works well - they all get runny.
I’m looking to the culinary world and perspective to see if anyone knows of a starch that works best for this. TIA

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Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
— Langston Hughes
Catalogue Description
Self-Monitoring Behavioural Management Report: Casimir Szymański, Scazim Institute of Science and Technology - English Translation
Date:
15 Summer-2 3429 (Standard Parimthian Calendar)
November 23rd, 2162 (Gregorian Calendar)
Held by:
The UK National Archives, Kew
Legal status:
Public Record(s)
My father worshipped a fabricated, pagan prophet.
The Senghavi of the Parimthian Empire are principally joined under the ditheistic religion called Siedi, which I do not subscribe to. Of course, the Senghavi's literature, art, and faith flooded the whole of Earth upon their arrival a century ago. From this ocean of civilised culture, my degenerate species drew a sample, claimed it as our own, and polluted it with a distorted, appropriated, dumbed-down doctrine.
The central figure in this corrupt sample of Siedi was a man whom my father called Jesus Christ. He was said to have offered himself as a sacrifice that could be made to a single God. It was a final sacrifice, one beyond lambs or cattle or people. One that would atone for humanity's sins, so that we could have the free choice between the eternal presence of God and the eternal absence of "Him."
My father dressed himself in black, with a standing collar whose white fabric was exposed at the centre. That much, I could recall. He preached to hopeful humans in what was called a church, though I did not know what he was preaching. At the very least, my childhood is fuzzy in that regard.
The pain that throbbed through my skull, after the blonde savage had slammed my head against the ridges of the airlock, faded into the background. I could not focus; perhaps, I thought, one of their improvised explosives had gone off by accident. There was blue Senghavi blood staining my dress shirt. The rush of air escaping into vacuum pierced my ears.
Perhaps it was thirst of water, which binds most sapient beings—the Sons of Liberty had reached an agreement with the Colonial Defence Force to allow spacecraft delivering food, water, and medical aid, only to unleash the anti-collision lasers of this cursed spaceliner upon those very ships.
Or perhaps it was the explosion, as I initially thought, an inadvertent complication which had wrought injury and death over my countrymen, and which had forced the terrorist savages to attempt to patch up the many hull breaches left by debris.
Or perhaps it was simply the stress of betraying, in my desperate efforts to save everyone from this senseless violence, the greatest secret of the Senghavi Terrans: our antimatter research. Word of it had likely been forwarded already, hundreds of light-years away, to that pink-hued marble which was Parimth itself.
Or perhaps it was all three; thirst, explosion, and stress. In any case, my mind shut it all out, and something lost from my childhood flashed before me:
We're standing on the cracked street of the Vennec Human Reservation. In the distance, the Senghavi's white, glassy spires reach above the clouds, their accents of luminescence dim in the broad daylight.
I hold a ball in my palm. It's wrapped in white leather held together with red stitching. I toss it to Dad.
Instead of his clerical uniform, he wears the normal "T-shirt" and "cargo shorts." Along with the clerical getup, they are just two of the many sorts of clothing which the Senghavi have invented for humanity. I toss the ball to Dad, and he swings a primitive wooden bat.
The ball goes soaring, further than he meant to. He jogs down the road to retrieve it, then gives me the wooden bat. The breeze ruffles his hair just as he ruffles mine with his hand.
"Now, you try," he says. "It's just practice, that's all."
For some reason, he lifts one leg in the air, then pitches the ball to me. I swing. The impact of the ball shakes through the wood, and it goes careening off to the left.
"I did it!" I yell. "But it went out of bounds."
"Heyyyy, that's not bad," Dad says with a reassuring voice. "Good job, just try to go a little more right next time."
Mom comes out onto the front porch, the breeze ruffling her dress as she waves to Dad. "Dinner's ready, and Mom's pie is... almost ready."
I stare blankly at her until I realise that she is talking about her Mom, Grandma, who is the best at making pumpkin pie.
"The pie!" I shout, running and jumping to the front door. "I totally forgot about that!"
I am ready to speed my way through dinner just so I can get to dessert, but Dad stops me before my first bite.
Of course, I think. We need to say grace. Me, Mom, Dad, Grandma, and Grandpa all hold hands, thanking God for our food, and then dig in. But Mom and Dad just talk about work, and I am too focused on finishing my food quickly to pitch in.
Finally—Grandma's pie!
When you bite into the soft, smooth filling, you can instantly tell it's been made with fresh pumpkins, not the boring canned ones. The taste of cinnamon and spice is balanced out perfectly with the coolness of the whipped cream.
The flavour spreads through my tongue and nostrils, filling my entire brain with a feeling of amazing-ness. If I wrote the Simple-Speak Dictionary for Senghavi Terrans, I'd put Grandma's pie next to the translation of "perfection."
I should save a slice, I think, for the Senghavi kid.
Even though it's only been a week since I met him through the playground fence, we already told each other where we live, and I want to get to know him more. He doesn't live on the Vennec Human Reservation, but his house is just a bike-ride away in Fellye Neighborhood.
I wonder if anyone's ever given pumpkin pie to an alien before. Even though humans only invented it fifty years ago, it makes me feel proud of my species!
When Mom tucks me into bed, kissing my forehead, I tell her what I'm going to do.
"Oh, you wild thing," she coos. "You're so much like your father. And you have his eyes, you know? Just stay safe."
"Don't worry, I'll do my best."
>! "Good night. I love you." !<
>! "I love you, too, Mom," I say. I hug her tightly from my bed, and a warm, fuzzy feeling blossoms within me. I can hardly fall asleep in my excitement. !<
Luckily, Fellye Neighborhood doesn't take apartheid that seriously, and I don't think anybody cares about an eight year-old human riding his bicycle around the gates.
Next evening, I do just that, peddling out of the Reservation's entrance into the violet dusk. When I get to Mensim's address, I ring the hi-tech front doorbell, and a really tall Senghavi shows up.
"Oh, dear," she says in Parimthian. "A barbarian hatchling—by what name do you go?"
"I'm Casimir," I say nervously. I don't pay that much attention in school, but I know just enough Parimthian to talk to the Senghavi woman. "Are you Mrs. Munghazi? Is Mensim fe Munghazi here? I got two slices of pie. You can have one, too!"
She looks at me suspiciously, antennae twitching. "That would be Teacher Munghazi to you; I know not why you natives invented these odd 'Mister' and 'Missis' honorifics. Hold on—Ghanvati! A native hatchling stands at our doorstep!"
Ghanvati must be Mensim's dad. I wonder where his other moms are; only one has shown up to the door. Ghanvati shows up with two of them—they are both shorter and daintier than Teacher Munghazi, their raptorial forelimbs folded shyly against their bodies. In front of the group of three is Mensim, and I involuntarily gasped with excitement.
"Mensim!"
"This is your new companion?" Ghanvati asks Mensim.
Mensim's papery forewings flicker with affirmation. "I met him at school."
"What, pray tell, is the point of apartheid if it does not actually keep natives away from Senghavi?" whines one of Ghanvati's wives.
Ghanvati's antennae droop as if to say "I don't know," while Mensim lifts my arms, inspecting me like I am a test animal in a mad scientist's laboratory.
"How do you guys not get cut all the time?" he asks, tracing his tarsal hairs over my bare skin. "You're so fleshy!"
"I do get cut all the time," I giggled. "We just use band-aids. Oh, do you wanna eat a pumpkin pie?"
It turned out that pumpkin pie is bad for alien stomachs. Mensim had to go to the bathroom for a long time, and three of his moms got mad at me.
When I got back, Dad and Mom were arguing. I snuck close to the back porch, making sure they couldn't hear me.
"Yes, they leave some people alone," Dad said. "Obviously, they can't spy on every single human who believes in human religions. But Katarzyna, they still need people to make an example out of, and I don't want to be that person!"
"Casimir is a responsible kid," Mom retorts. "I told him he can't tell anyone what you do, and he listens to me."
"He's eight years old. You can't just let him wander around aliens with a secret that could have me killed! Or have you killed!"
Mom cups Dad's cheek and looks him in the eye. She's a lot shorter than him. "Look, love. You're a great father, and I think it's amazing that you spend time with him. But you're the only person he talks to. You know just as well as I do that he needs to talk to other kids! It's not healthy; even Teacher Perevvoxath agreed. And now he finally has a friend."
Dad sighs, running his hands through his black hair. My hair. "You really think aliens are a substitute for human interaction?"
>! "I think every human needs a person they can talk to, and Casimir found one. If you really care about him, stop preaching for a while! Your church isn't gonna die without you. It'll be okay." !<
The next day, I visit Mensim's house after school again. And the next day after that, and the next after that. His dad Ghanvati is formally named Engineer Munghazi. I am to call his moms Teacher Munghazi, Teacher Munghazi, Teacher Munghazi, Accountant Munghazi, Priestess Munghazi, Doctor Munghazi, and Maidservant Munghazi.
A couple weeks later, Mensim and I are lounging together on his couch, watching a Parimthian war movie. The main characters are fighting against the evil forces of the Imperium of Orion. Under his head capsule, Mensim is munching something called Synth-Fruit, which is imported from a faraway planet called Mryi. I eat Pop-Tarts, which I'm pretty sure are toxic to him.
"Come on, just give me one," Mensim exclaims, reaching over to steal the sweet snacks from me. "It can't be that bad!"
I lift the Pop-Tarts away from him, laughing. "Stoppit, you're attacking me! Pay attention to the movie, or I'm gonna shoot you!"
"But I just want one..."
"It's gonna poison you, and you're gonna get your weird alien throw-up all over me!"
Priestess Munghazi, the oldest of his moms, bursts into the living room, her jewellery clinking over her clerical cape.
"Your sister conveyed to me quite the disturbing piece of news, Mensim," Priestess Munghazi cries. "The father of Casimir is a priest of a most barbarous and evil perversion of the Siedi faith. Ghanvati and I spoke, and we agreed that you are not to consort with this primitive, pagan savage any longer."
I drop my crumbly Pop-Tart on the couch, confused at the sudden order.
"But Priestess Munghazi, I'm not dangerous or evil. I'm just a kid."
"Nonsense! You are dangerous; your father is a barbarian worshipper of this evil, primate paganism that is called Christianity, and a most woeful effect is begot that even self-respecting Senghavi have 'gone native,' as they say. Mensim, if you continue to consort with this native spawn, I will be impelled to inform the Siedi Court, and they may by chance see to it that he is executed!"
"W-Wait!" Mensim says, holding up the remote to pause our movie. He gets off of me, suddenly losing interest in my Pop-Tart, his vestigial forewings rising with concern. "Please, Mother. I promise he won't be any trouble."
My blood runs cold. Dad, executed? Just because what he believes in isn't "civilised" enough? Actually, I thought that Mom told him to stop preaching for a while.
Mensim scrambles to *his father's sleeping quarters, and I trail frantically after him.*
"Father," Mensim says. "Is Casimir's father's job so ghastly that he should be executed by the Siedi Court?"
"We can't just let the natives spread the same barbarous religions that they used to kill each other," Ghanvati replies, his secondary arms clasped together. "It's a threat to safe, moral society. Priestess Munghazi told me his father spreads evil and paganism. I have no reason not to trust the oldest of your mothers."
"But Casimir's my best friend! If you tell the Siedi Court about his father, I'll... I'll run away! I'll hate you!"
Distressed vibrations emanate through the floor beneath my feet; Mensim's antennae and papery forewings and hindwings go limp. Something like lilies and the earthy scent of rain fills the air.
"My dearest Mensim," Ghanvati says softly, dipping his head capsule with compassion. "I will hold off, just this once. It would be apt of you not to cause me to reconsider."
"T-thank you, Engineer Munghazi," I say, wiping my own tears. "My dad's not a bad person, I promise."
After confronting his dad, Mensim and I keep on watching movies and playing digital games. He always wins when we wrestle, but I still haven't given up (even though Priestess Munghazi always tells us to stop roughhousing).
I even bring my Lego pieces to his house. He doesn't know what Legos are, but later, in his sleeping quarters, we build together. He makes a cool-looking spaceship that he calls a "negative energy generator."
"Hey, you took all the cool black and grey pieces," I complain. "Now I can't finish my army base!"
"This is cooler than your army base," Mensim says proudly. "Father used to work in one. It uses the superposition of squeezed vacuum states to produce a field of negative energy density."
"I have no idea what that means, but that sounds really smart."
"No kidding! It's how people make wormholes and fly all the way to other stars."
"Well, my army guys could beat your negative energy-thingy. They have machine guns."
"My guys could just fly a [~million billion trillion kilometres] away, and yours can't do anything about it!"
"Then your guys are wimps. But my guys aren't. Because they're the Army!"
>! We also explore the pine forest in his backyard. Within just two more weeks, we have uncovered all sorts of interesting things, like a piece of a real human skull. One time, we found a human foot sculpted and smoothed out of stone—who would make such a thing?—and a dead metal device with the icon of a bitten-out-of apple printed on it. !<
There were also other human body parts made out of ancient stone, too: the cracked half of a man's face buried a foot deep, a muscly arm sticking out of the soil. Even a private part, which I snickered at, though Mensim seemed unfazed.
There is something else we start to do. My parents have given me "the talk," and Mensim told me that his parents gave him the Senghavi version of it. And so even as we talk and play in the woods, we experiment—because we are curious, and why should we not be?
A fragment of a memory in the forest; Mensim's raptorial forelimbs are set on my shoulders as his compound eyes look into my primate eyes, and he says, "You cannot tell anyone about this. Anyone. Absolutely no one."
I don't know how, but Priestess Munghazi learned of what we were doing, and now she expresses anger and disgust alike, her wings and antennae wild and rigid. Ghanvati is the same. Mensim and I... We're actually making them reconsider their decision not to tell the Siedi Court about my dad.
A fragment of a memory... I feel like I am in space, stranded aboard a spaceliner that has been hijacked by terrorists, its atmosphere venting amid a backdrop of violence... But I am not, I am in the forest that Mensim and I talked and played in; I am in Mensim's home, terrified as I am yelled at by Ghanvati, whose compassion no longer shines through, accompanied by Priestess Munghazi.
"By the names of the Gods, it's those false, pagan corruptions which humans have named as their religions, that are spouted by your father," Priestess Munghazi spits. I am teary-eyed and snot-nosed from guilt and embarrassment. "How horrid is the link between the state of barbarism and a most revolting and shameful propensity for bizarre and perverted behaviour!"
Then I am in my own family's living room, and the mom I love so dearly yells at me, too, but my father is quieter and only seems disappointed. This must be the first time in my life that I have felt true shame, I think; the kind that leaves you with an emptiness inside. Like the whole point of existing just vanished inside of me.
The worst part is that I cannot even lean on Mom's shoulder, because she is distressed—because she knows what will happen—
"This is all on you, Casimir!" she screeches, tears in her eyes. "All on you!"
I remember telling Priestess Munghazi that 'I'm not dangerous or evil; I'm just a kid,' but now I can't be sure anymore. I can tell I am different in the eyes of my family. They are disgusted by me.
It is my fault, after all, that Priestess Munghazi tells the Siedi Court of my father's evil, barbaric Christian teachings.
The Parimthian soldiers bring my father to the gallows. Their snow-white exoskeletons gleam under a burning sun. They have dressed him in his clerical uniform, and the camera is close enough that I can see his cross necklace.
I have been grounded in my room; still, I have a television to see the live broadcast.
Hanging works for primates and mantids alike. It happens in the Forum of Movvaeti, the venue for public events in our area, where my father is a lesser criminal compared to the native leaders and Senghavi malcontents who have dissented from Colonial Governor Nieve fe Skellth.
He is joined with seven other convicts, three humans and four Senghavi, and their crimes are read to the crowd—blasphemy, paganism, monogamy, witchcraft, seditious libel, insulting the Parimthian Crown, treason against the Parimthian Crown, and refusal to quarter Parimthian soldiers.
Why? None of this feels right. Why should my father be killed because of what he says and believes? Why can't these people be judged with fairness, rather than at the whim of some distant space emperor?
Not only have I been grounded, but I grow cold without my mother's touch. I want to hold someone's hand while watching Dad lose his life, but nobody is there. Mom brings me food, but she doesn't even look at me. Why can't she look at me? Why can't she speak to me? I just want things to be the way they used to be, when Dad would help me practise hitting a ball with a bat on the street.
I watch him turn down a caped, bejewelled priestess of the Siedi faith, who thought she could make my dad accept their Gods before his death. Before a modest crowd of humans and Senghavi alike, all eight of the convicts have their arms and legs bound with rope.
I am begging myself to turn the TV off, but I can't bring myself to. The Senghavi executioner uses some kind of hi-tech display to remove the supports from beneath the convicts' feet. My stomach flips over inside of me, a nausea of shame filling my body.
I can't deny it any longer. This is my fault—this is why my family avoids me—this is why they are disgusted by me—and Dad falls and his head jerks when the noose goes taut.
As he hangs there, I cannot tell for how long he remains alive. My insides are cold. After the broadcast ends, after night falls and I sit in the moonlight spilling faintly through my windows, that is when it all comes out. I sob alone. I scream for Mom to help me and be there for me, but she does not come. Her harsh voice resonates through my memory; this is all on me. I am a disgrace to everyone I love, and that is why they have left me here. Why they avoid me as if I am a disease.
The only thing I want is to see Dad again, but he is gone forever. I curl up on my room floor. What is this? What is this loneliness? This stinging hatred I feel against myself?
No one, human or mantid, will be there for me. I cry until my throat cannot ache any more harshly, until my eyes cannot sting any more painfully, and then I go cold inside, my body shivering in the moonlight. I retreat into my happy memories with Dad until it is too painful to bear.
I wish so dearly I could end it all, to take my own life and join Dad in the heaven that he believed in. There is a belt in my closet that I can use on myself in the way the Siedi Court killed Dad.
But beneath the sickly well of shame, the nausea and crushing humiliation at the stupid antics of Mensim and I, with which Mom's brief gaze pierces me—beneath the weight of knowing that I will never fill the torturous vacuum Dad left, knowing that I am a foul and disgusting son to the mother I so desperately need, that I see no end to the infinite river of anxiety and guilt pouring through the hole left in my heart—beneath my isolation and my longing for human touch—something breaks inside of me.
An emptiness of purpose. There is no point in going on, and I feel nothing, not even the desire to stop living. There is one exception: A hatred of myself, and of the humans I loved as family.
One day, Mom appears in my doorway, and she just stands there. Before, I would've welcomed being offered interaction with her beyond just receiving food, but now I am numb, my eyes all out of tears to cry.
"Pack your things," she says, her voice flat. She still doesn't look at me; the eyes she once said I inherited from Dad, she now shuns. "You're going to a residential school."
Indigenous Residential Schools; that is what Colonial Governor Nieve fe Skellth calls them, I think. They're for human kids who have trouble letting go of their "savage" roots; kids that the normal schools aren't enough to civilise. Schools that show you how to act Senghavi, to think Senghavi, to... be Senghavi.
There was a human kid in normal school whose sister went there, but they said that something had happened to her there; something in that residential school had changed her before she finally returned.
But I feel no fear as I pack my clothes into my bags. Every time I look in my bedroom mirror, a violent feeling rushes to my chest, only to dissipate into the hatred-tinged numbness I have grown so used to.
Finally, the time comes to depart. In the early morning, I am already aboard the autonomous public transport. It pulls out of the cracked street I once played with Dad in, passing by the entrance of Fellye Neighborhood, driving off into the fiery, violet Terran dawn. I see my faded reflection in the window, and my chest jumps with revulsion.
So I look down, fidgeting with my touchpad—then the numbness abruptly leaves, and my tears fall once again.
Forgive me for all the redaction, Doctor Morgthax. While I will not disclose what I wrote, you are correct, as always, about the act of writing. There is some semblance of psychological relief in typing one's sullen inner thoughts onto a touchpad. As if one can be heard without being heard.
By the time I drifted back to reality, my mouth and lips dry from dehydration, the hijackers had patched up the holes punched through the hull by the accidental explosion. Plenty of Senghavi passengers were spilling cerulean blood from beneath their exoskeletal coverings; though they were all alive, they needed medical attention.
Two hundred-something Senghavi civilians aboard this luxury spaceliner, and none had yet died. That stroke of luck offered me a glimmer of hope.
Pavok, the child, was emitting vibrations through the floor in his despair, the smell of rain and lilies becoming evident to me. It is starkly fascinating, the evolutionary dissimilarity between how native Terrans and Senghavi Terrans cry.
Those ships were delivering medical aid and critical provisions to the passengers, Commander Lokprel barked, the neutrino signals that encoded his gruff voice coming out from the intercom. Why did you laser them?
"Stop playing games," Jake snapped wearily into his radio. I recalled that his full name was Jacob Weaver, as Commander Lokprel had mentioned. A drop of blood streaked down his face. "We know what you're up to."
Paranoia will get you nowhere, Jacob. If we don't work with each other, you won't survive. We have detected an explosion aboard the spaceliner. Is anyone dead?
"Not yet," Jake growled. "But Fenni Svim will be if your forces keep approaching!"
Fenni Svim—the Senghavi from the Vellir Veneti Physics Lab, against whose skull Jake had pressed his pistol to halt the CDF's initial approach, hours ago—stiffened in her seat. I had never known the nuclear researcher very well before this barbarous event, but I prayed to the Gods of Siedi (whom I do not really believe in) that she would be okay.
Many of the passengers were still being kept by the windows to deter snipers. They included Pavok, behind whom Khadija stood guard.
"Sorry for attacking you," Jake suddenly said to me, his voice worn-out. "It's like Khadija said. The bugs know that humans are strong when they're united. It's why they try to play us against ourselves, to ally with just some of us, to try to make us hate each other; to hate ourselves. It's how they tore the United States apart. Everything they do... It's to make us ashamed of our species, our own culture, to lose hope in the future. If we were united, Casimir... they'd be terrified of us. And make no mistake—we're uniting again."
"E-even if what you say about mankind is true," I croaked, "Our species would not have settled anywhere but Earth. Our culture and history would still have been negligible and primitive, the richness and complexity of the Senghavi, still greater by many orders of magnitude."
"Casimir, did you go to one of the Indigenous Residential Schools?" Khadija asked.
"Y-yes," I managed, dusting off my formal wear and cleaning my glasses. "I was sent to one as a child. They are for those of us savage natives which conventional education could not sufficiently civilise."
Khadija's eyes softened with compassion, and she gestured to my wrist. "I asked because of that code on your wrist. I've heard about some of the things that happen in those places. The cruelty; the abuse."
I glanced at the abstract identification code tattooed onto my skin, faded with time. I hadn't thought about it in ages; it was but a remnant of my childhood, and I never paid it any attention.
"Residential schooling is necessary and proper," I tell her. "It is similar to human-mantid apartheid in its purpose; it keeps the public safe from savagery. "
"If we get out of this alive, I'm gonna take you with me to Russia," she said, wiping sweat from her brow. "Specifically, Moscow. It's where I lived after the fall of Türkiye. Man controls it, not the Senghavi."
I was already aware that a vast, untamed region named Zvorriu-Sai, located in Earth's northeastern quarter-sphere, is called Russia in simple-speak. A decade ago, Nieve fe Skellth had tried to civilise the hunter-gatherers who lived there, but his troops starved and froze in the snow.
It was with the multitude of planetary habitat fabricators that his army had been using that the native primates of Zvorriu-Sai constructed such cities as Moscow or Saint Petersburg.
"Russian civilization goes back over a millennium," Khadija explained. "I don't give a fuck about what the Senghavi have built on this planet; Russian architecture is my favourite, hands down. Anyway, it's the most stable and self-sufficient of the ten countries we've got left. Hard to invade, you know? It's seen better days, but the cities are nice, the economy is good. I think you'll find it's a hell of a lot less 'savage' than whatever the fuck the Parimthian Empire is doing."
To corroborate her claims, she showed me a photo from the gallery of her cracked, dusty touchpad. Before a busy canal, the waters tinted orange by a rising sun, a more relaxed version of her smiled into the camera alongside some human of the phenotype I had seen in the video of Tokyo. Looming over them was an intricate, palatial structure topped with colourful, onion-shaped domes.
"How... quaint," I replied, unsure of what to say, though it ignited dry laughter in Khadija.
"Looks like we got a communiqué from the UN," another hijacker announced, his mask still covering his face. I couldn't place his accent at all. He held up his own touchpad, displaying photos of the Colonial Governor herself—Perellanth fe Sumur—flanked by armed UN military personnel. They were clad in urban camouflage that was marred with blood. The black, plant-like extraterrestrial gazed defeatedly in the sterile lighting.
The UN had captured her! The Crown's decision to appoint a Vire as the leader of a Senghavi colony had been no small event. I was certain that after all the talk of Senghavi Terran independence, then followed by the Colonial Governor's capture, His Imperial Majesty regretted his progressivist decision.
"We... We did it!" Jake exclaimed, his voice disbelieving. "We took down Perellanth!"
You achieved nothing, Commander Lokprel retorted over the intercom. Not beyond the promotion of Benghoviu fe Prim to Acting Colonial Governor. If you kill Governor Sumur, Governor Benghoviu will become the permanent Colonial Governor as per the chain of command, and he will carry on the fine work of his predecessor.
Jake seemed to consider that situation a fair one, and he nodded to himself subtly. "Okay, sure. But if you do nothing, we'll still kill our first hostage."
What I can promise you is that Delegate Essintsya fe Baryn will submit an Act to the Forum of Delegates to recognize the sovereignty of the UN. It will be deliberated over for months, but it is your only realistic option. In return, we demand that you allow the passengers injured by one of your explosives to board CDF medical ships.
I recalled that the Forum of Delegates had voted Benghoviu fe Prim as Vice Colonial Governor just a year ago. And before even that, the Senghavi who lived on Vennec—my home continent on Earth—had popularly elected the ever-prudent Essintsya fe Baryn to the Forum. She was quite the economic liberal, as her sort was called.
Delegate Baryn's statements on the social contract between a people and their government, as well as her rejection that the Parimthian Crown ruled by divine right, had resonated deeply with me.
Jake's eyes hardened, and he turned his radio back on. "I said no games!"
There are no games here, Jacob! We only aim to preserve as much sapient life as possible. And you are out of options.
The hijacker who had shown Colonial Governor Sumur's prison photo gave Jake a withering look. "We're dragging this on, man. I don't want anyone to die."
"Don't talk to me about death, Ramiro. Not after what happened in the US."
The so-called United States of America... called Gholo Vieda in Parimthian. That region was Nieve fe Skellth's last successful conquest before he attempted to take on the vast, snowy expanses of Zvorriu-Sai. I wondered if, like Khadija's experience in Türkiye in the Niethvahi region, Jake had witnessed firsthand the cultural assimilation and political integration of Gholo Vieda into the rest of Parimthian Earth.
The conquest of Gholo Vieda and Niethvahi were the great accomplishments of Perellanth's predecessor, of course; but, in my opinion, the devotion of the (now captured) Perellanth to the causes of liberty, reason, equality, and sapientism far outshadowed anything that Nieve had done. I am certain, however, that the Parimthian Crown disagrees.
In any case, my faith in CDF Commander Lokprel loth Fonvie had not risen. Perhaps that was a good thing; otherwise, I might have regretted betraying the knowledge of antimatter research in order to elicit a more competent Parimthian intervention.
More security forces took up positions around the spaceliner, each ship split sharply into sunlight and shadow amid the black of space. The hijacker called Ramiro pointed to a series of smaller craft, which seemed to be pulling away from the luxury spaceliner. Escape pods!
"Hostages are falling through our fingers," Ramiro said. "We need to do something."
"Go to the rear," Khadija ordered. "Stop anyone else from sneaking out!"
Jake's radio crackled with the voice of someone in the cockpit. We've intercepted a neutrino transmission from the new guy, Benghoviu fe Prim. He's calling for some kind of emergency council at the highest levels in the Parimthian Empire.
I scoffed internally. The Crown would intervene for the sake of investigating all this talk of antimatter, whose alluring utility had hitherto been confined to theory and fiction. But it was doubtful that His Imperial Majesty would agree to an emergency council for the sake of his colonists' security and well-being. As (relatively) progressivist as he was in policy, he was still very much a punitive emperor, not a rewarding one.
"I told the commander to stop advancing—dammit!" Jake spat. "We're only letting medical craft get any closer. Fire at the corvettes!"
Affirmative, his radio crackled. Targets in sight.
The spaceliner's anti-collision lasers flashed against several faraway spacecraft. A succession of oxygen-fueled fires, each lasting for a [~split-second] against the vacuum of space, flared in the distance. Even so, the growing array of naval craft began to close in upon us again, surrounding the spaceliner in every dimension.
Switching again to the neutrino-connected channel, Jake gave a disgusted scowl. "Are you deaf, Commander? If your people keep getting closer, the deal is off!"
The more you fire, the closer we will get, *Lokprel said. *We are just making sure it is safe for the medical craft. As long as you refrain from harming them, we will not hurt you.
The hijacker in the cockpit radioed to Jake again, her voice sounding more alarmed.
We're picking up a massive object on our scanners. It's headed our way.
"How massive are we talking?" Jake asked.
It's... some kind of warship, I think. Over a hundred times our size.
"You're joking, right?"
"A Parimthian spacecraft carrier," murmured a soft, whimpery voice.
It was Fenni Svim again, her praying raptorial forelimbs tucked close in fear.
"The Imperial Parimthian Navy?" I asked. "They're really here?"
"Y-you shouldn't act surprised," Fenni said. "I know you were speaking to someone on the P-Parimthian side. You leaked our greatest secret, Casimir."
"R-right."
"What's she talking about, dude?" Khadija asked. Suspicion of betrayal lingered in her dark eyes. She had believed the lie that I was only calling a loved one when I contacted Mensim, >! who is at present an agent of Parimth!<; she had trusted me, and defended me against Jake's wrath.
I didn't answer. The very reason we needed antimatter was that the colonists' outerspace spanned but a meagre few millionths of the Parimthian Empire's total volume. I did not know what exactly a spacecraft carrier one hundred times the size of our spaceliner could do for the hostages, but it would be far more competent than the comparatively flimsy Colonial Defence Force.
Finally, after so many years of strategic modesty in the administration of the Crown's distant colony, of his Earth, as His Imperial Majesty suffered expense upon expense in countering the Imperium of Orion... Parimth had sent a warship of the Imperial Parimthian Navy, here in full force!
There was no need to inquire as to its distance; I could see it through my window. It was far enough that I could view the whole of its great form. Senghavi architecture, of course, is usually round, white, and glassy, traced with glowing accents; however, the imperial warship was boxy and shadowy black, visible only by the silhouette that it carved into the beaming sun.
Already, dozens of smaller craft—operated by some of the finest Senghavi pilots in the Milky Way—began spilling out from the spacecraft carrier, moving in the shadow of their gargantuan mothership. As even the hostage passengers became aware of its presence, the muted chatter and whimpering, which had been ambient across the aisles of the spaceliner, finally ceased.
Because of me, all of us—colonists and savages alike—were, for the first time in a decade, going to face a military intervention by Parimth itself.

carl isnt too bad of a guy. when carl votes to ban something, carl vote with whatever the goalie picked, because the goalie will be the one with the ultimate responsibility.
when carl sees a teammate free for a pass, carl will pass. when carl sees a goalie being bullied, carl will help.
however when carl is the goalie and the absolute stinker of a forward tries to imply it is your fault that they breathe with their mouth open by spamming toxic emotes, carl will gladly take that round off and relax in a corner, watch a youtube video, and let the underperforming ragebaby teammate calm down.
if you're going to spam pass when you always stand in an unpassable position, refusing to accept the problem is you, if you are going to spam a "????" emote after you interfered with defense by kicking ball to an opponent so they can score, if you're going to be a butthead of a teammate then carl is going to take a break.
stop dropping toxic emotes on your own teammates. stop blaming your goalie for your failure as a forward or midfielder. stop messing with your goalie by not letting them defend and spending your time interfering with it, making yourself irrelevant on the offense, an obstacle on the defense, and entirely unpassable.
dont be that guy. carl will gladly afk. if they add a ban system, carl will still gladly afk. carl wishes there was a chat so you could explain to these knobheads that their childish outbursts wont serve them well.
spam whatever emotes you want to the other team, but at least be encouraging and friendly to your own team. play your role, let your teammates play theirs, ask yourself what you could have done better even if your teammates made a mistake, because you certainly didnt play entirely perfect even if you werent the one making the most noticeable mistake.
dont be a knob.