#but after dying this last time I did some troubleshooting i realized it was the charging port itself (⁠〒⁠﹏⁠〒⁠)

[kuromi-hoemie]

my fuckin work laptop stopped working ｡⁠:ﾟ⁠(⁠;⁠´⁠∩⁠`⁠;⁠)ﾟ⁠:⁠｡(⁠ノ⁠｀⁠⌒⁠´⁠)⁠ノ⁠┫⁠：⁠・⁠┻⁠┻

[vintagedolan]

hey!!! big big fan of all your work bub, thanks for the effort you put into everything! not sure if ur taking requests, if not just ignore, but i have a potential one here;) so i’m a sups independent girl, almost to a fault lol, part bc i love being independent and part sometimes bc i just don’t want to burden others. and my friend once joked about if something were to ever happen and i’d need to go to the hospital, i’d legit try to take myself. SO i was wondering, could you maybe write (1/2)

(2/2) i was wondering if you’d write something about one of the boys’s S.O’s having stomach pain or smth and maybe she has to get her appendix out and she’s driving herself and her man finds out and he’s like, angry she didn’t say anything but also gets worried and idk hopefully this makes sense if not no worries 😂 have a nice night, bug xx

okay but why is this concept actually some shit I would do lmao

You missed the porsche. There, you said it. Maybe it was because you had so many memories tied to it’s leather seats - Gray driving you home after your first date, the late night PCH drives, the morning coffee runs. You were emotionally attached to the thing, you couldn’t help it.

But holy shit were you glad that he’d gotten a tesla that day.

“Fucking shit.” You winced, doubling over again after just a few steps. When it started, you thought it was just cramps, or maybe even something you ate. But by the second time you’d thrown up, you knew something else was going on, the stabbing pain in your lower right side excruciating. 

“Breathe, just breathe,” you mumbled to yourself, scrambling through the drawer of the table of the foyer until you found the key you needed - Grayson always just used his phone to start his car, but you knew the little car shaped thing had to be somewhere. 

Sure enough, you gripped in your hands so hard that you accidentally pressed the button that made the doors open automatically. Usually you’d mutter about how unnecessary it was, all the over top technology when you could just open the door yourself.

But when you managed to get in, a few tears slipping from your eyes as you punched in hospital on the GPS and flipped auto pilot on, leaning back in the seat and clutching your stomach, you were thankful for all the bells and whistles. The drive time popped up as the car started to move - 15 minutes. You just had to make it 15 minutes.

At a Wakeheart meeting on the other side of town, Grayson’s phone buzzed.

He moved it quickly off the tabletop, a bit embarrassed. It didn’t matter that he was the CEO of the whole thing, he didn’t want any of his team to think he didn’t care about his meeting. Still, he checked it quickly under the table in case it was a text from you.

Instead, it was a notification from his Tesla app, and the tag line had his heart rate rising with every word he read.

Headed to the hospital? If you are in an emergency, please do not rely on autopilot and call 911 immediately to seek medical assistance.

He put his phone back up on the table, sliding it over to Ethan. He didn’t have to say anything - Ethan just knew, and by the way his brow furrowed over the screen, Grayson understood.

“Hey guys, really sorry but can we take a five minute break? Gotta troubleshoot something really quick.”

He was met with mumbles of understanding that he didn’t pay attention to as he stepped out into the hallway, Ethan on his heels.

“You’ve never gotten anything like that before?” 

“Nah bro, I have no idea what that’s about. Hold on I’ll look it up.” Ethan typed furiously on his phone for a moment, eyes going wide.

“Uh, it says it comes up if you put a hospital into the GPS and enable autopilot. It’s a safety feature, so you can’t try to hold them liable if autopilot fails and you’re like dying or something. But who would be - oh shit.”

Grayson was two steps ahead of him, already clicking your contact.

Inside the tesla, you let out another groan as you saw his name pop up on the screen. You knew if you didn’t answer he would just keep calling, and you had the sinking feeling that he was somehow onto you. You clicked the green button and tried to steady your voice.

“Hello?”

“Are you good?”

“Yeah, I’m uh - I’m okay. Why?”

“Oh you know, just the fact that my phone told me my tesla is in route to a fucking hospital right now? What the fuck babe?”

Fuck. There was no way to play that off, and if there was, you couldn’t think of it quick enough. 

“Ummmmm.. shit,” you winced again, grabbing at your side with a whimper.

“Y/N tell me what’s going on, no bullshit. Please, you’re scaring me.” His tone was pleading, and you couldn’t resist it.

“I think it’s my appendix. Hurts like a bitch, and if they rupture that can be really bad. So I’m going to the -“ you sucked in another breath, trying to keep it together. “- To the hospital.

“Jesus, why didn’t you call me? I could have taken you, you shouldn’t be driving!”

“I’m fin-”

“You aren’t fine. I’m coming. I’m on my way.”

“Okay.” You didn’t have the heart to argue with him, you were in too much pain, and you knew he was only going to be more mad when he realized that if it really was your appendix, they were going to have you in surgery as soon as they could.

You made it through the last few minutes of the drive, taking the tesla off auto and doing your very best to park it. 

You must not have been playing it off as well as you thought you were, because someone took one look at you headed for the ER doors and they were running inside to get someone to help.

It was a bit humiliating to be eased down into a wheelchair by a very nice nurse and wheeled in through the doors, but the pain was so bad that you felt like you were going to pass out any minute. So you let it happen, let them wheel you in and take you back almost immediately, get you changed into a gown and check you out. The pain was immense, but they didn’t want to give you anything to ease it with the likelihood of surgery right around the corner. So you ground your teeth and tried to fight through it, sucking in deep breaths as your insides felt like they were ripping apart.

“Well Y/N, it’s looking like surgery. Did anyone come here with you, anyone you want to bring back?” The doctor asked quickly when he finally came in, already starting to get the paperwork moving. 

“I came alone, but my boyfriend is on his - on his way. Grayson Dolan. Please let him back here if he gets here, please,” you pleaded, knowing he would be more than upset if he didn’t see you before you got taken back.

“I’ll have one of the nurses check the waiting room. 

“Ethan Dolan too, if he’s here.”

“Okay, you just try to relax, I’ll go see.” 

Relaxing wasn’t in your capabilities, but you did let out a sigh of relief when you saw them come through the door.

Grayson on the other hand was anything but relieved when he saw the look on your face and realized just how much pain you were in. He was at your side immediately, Ethan over his shoulder - more for his sake than for yours.

“Baby -” he was out of breath, no doubt having raced to the hospital and run inside as quickly as he could.

“I’m okay, I’m gonna be fine,” you moved to reassure him, trying to reach out for him. It backfired, sending more pain into your side that had you sucking in a breath. “You don’t have to worry.”

“Bullshit, of course I’m gonna worry. The nurse said you’re going back for surgery?” 

“Yeah.” As if on cue the doctor came back in, ready to take you back.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you,” you whispered, feeling guilty. If the roles were reversed, you would be more than mad, and it was all you could think about.

“Shhhh, stop. I love you, just come back to me in one piece, okay?” He leaned over and kissed your forehead - the pain had you hazy, but you managed to get out a “I love you too” before they wheeled you out.

It was a quick surgery, which was a blessing for Grayson’s nerves that were already worn thin. His foot bounced from the minute he sat down in the waiting room all the way until the nurse came to find them again, letting him know that you’d made it through surgery with no issues.

When you finally managed to open your eyes, Grayson was right there, one of your hands clasped in his. You were loopy from the anesthesia still in your system and you gave him a goofy smile. 

“You’s mad at me,” you said, and though you meant to be sad it came out as a giggle. 

“A little bit, yes, Ms. I-never-ask-for-help,” he sighed, but there wasn’t a trace of bite in his tone.

“Sowwwy,” you slurred, squeezing his hand as best you could. He brought your hand up to his lips, kissing each of your knuckles as you started to wake up a bit more, bleary eyes opening further.

“It’s okay baby. Besides, you get to let me take care of you for the next week. Doctor’s orders, so you can’t argue either. That’ll make up for it.”

“You have work,” you countered, making him laugh as he moved up the bed and kissed your forehead again.

“Ethan and I cleared our week, you’re stuck with me. I get to pamper you,” he teased, running his fingers through your hair as he moved it back out of your face.

“Gross,” you grumbled, trying to keep up the facade. You never liked to be taken care of, no matter how much Grayson tried to.

“I’m glad you’re okay baby. Just promise to call me next time, okay? Taking care of you is part of my boyfriend duties, it’d be nice if you let me do it sometimes.”

You mumbled out the promise, but you were smiling as best you could and nodding, just glad to have him there with you, the idea of him being curled up in bed with you for a few days warming you up to the idea. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

[ayellowbirds]

I know, I promised an update earlier today. The thing is that my household has been dealing with what seemed like small problems snowballing into bigger and bigger problems; our only car can’t pass inspection and the troubleshooting of why has turned up problems with the fuel pump and control arm that are being estimated at a couple thousand dollars in parts and labor; we’re going to see about whether another mechanic can do that for less, but we’re still expecting a significant cost. That’s in addition to making up for the cost of a rental, and on top of testing for both myself and my father turning up unexpected medical problems, which are compounded by the lack of reliable transportation, and our general practitioner being on vacation. 

I said yesterday that NaNo was a big undertaking that has absorbed a huge part of my time, and has been very emotionally rewarding. But it’s also been emotional labor, and that labor is affected by not only dealing with these problems, but interacting with my short-tempered senior citizen father and acting as a go-between between him and other people, including doctors and relatives.

We have some savings, but that can only take us so far, and there’s costs outside of the more urgent ones. 

If anyone is up for helping offset those costs, please click here for a Paypal donation page, or here for my Ko-Fi if that’s easier for you. 

If you missed the last update, or just want a refresher, then click this link. 

And now, the penultimate update:

The 29th of Lumeary, 5647 CC

“Next, I guess we’ll wrap things up with those who want to come back alive,” Cypora said, looking through the papers. They’d traveled out to a border town to purchase some more food and other goods, as Etzbamoreh was more of a holy site for the dead than a place to buy things living ‘tourists’ might need. Here, they even saw some living mortals, and undead who were likely on their way to see about resurrection. It had been agreed that it would be bad to harass adventurers here, and they kept as low a profile as they could manage while still dealing with the more self-aware of the rephaim to barter for goods and services.

She spread the pages out in stacks, handing some to Shiaroc, and others to Sefora. Orangella was at a stall nearby, haggling over the value of some pieces of treasure she was trying to exchange for dried fruits; her turn to deal with the oddities of the local merchants after Cypora had worked herself into an anxious mess negotiating for supplies to make switchel.*

“How are you feeling about all the volkelak coming back?” she asked Sefora, who was reviewing her pages. Under the table, Sharf yawned, and Cypora reached down to pet her and give her a snack.

Sefora seemed to think about it, flipping the pages about as a distraction. “It’s going to be good, but different. I guess I got used to it just being me and the kids, and before that, a few others. I don’t even know most of the people in here, they’re from before my time.”

“You came to the dungeon recently?” Cypora asked, and Sefora nodded. “I guess I didn’t think about that, much. Newcomers, versus those who were there from the start. And me, the newest-comer of all.”

“We will vouch for you,” Shiaroc assured her, and under the table, curled her tail around to brush against Cypora.

“Thanks,” Cypora felt the heat of a blush on her face. She had her mask up, but the papers made it easier to hide the redness. “What about you? How do you feel about all of your people returning?”

Shiaroc slumped, and let out a long breath. “I thought I would be happy. But, I am frightened? What will they think of me, and the choices I made? There are many mothers coming back. There are champions who fell, before me. To face them is making me feel stress.”

“I can relate,” Cypora said, laying her hand over Shiaroc’s own. “My legs felt like jelly when we met with the Old Goat, and now we’re going to bring back Joia-Douce, who was overlord after him and right before me.”

She realized that might have been insensitive, and looked at Sefora, trying to gauge her reaction. She had apparently been distracted by something in the other papers, the ones that neither she nor Shiaroc had been reviewing.

“Eh?” Sefora startled, looking up in the silence. “Sorry, I didn’t really know her, but I remember that she basically took the job because nobody wanted it right after the Old Goat died. And then she holed herself up and refused to interact with anyone, which I guess is how she wound getting sick and dying. It takes a lot for sickness to kill a loup-garou.”

She picked up one of the pages she’d been reviewing. “Anyway, I was wondering about some of the people we’re bringing back. I don’t know that the witch-does or the pigmen will get along with the loups-garou.”

Although she’d never† met one—all those that had lived in the dungeon had been slain in previous raids by adventurers—Cypora knew from her studies under Madrona that these were near-kin to the volkelaks: not humans who had acquired, been cursed, or born with the ability to take on the form and features of a monstrous wolf, they were instead people who took on the aspects and bodies of swine and deer. The pigmen were especially dreadful; she shuddered to imagine being afflicted with turning into that most trayf of animals.

“Ah, because they turn into animals that wolves hunt?” she guessed.

Sefora blinked, before slowly and flatly responding, “no.”

“Then, why?”

“They’re more vicious than any wolf,” Sefora said. “Brutal, bloody, cruel. Loups-garou will hunt people, sure. But pigmen and witch-does will play with them, like a cat with a mouse.”

This had been one of Cypora’s worries about the inhabitants of the dungeon. It was true that some of those who still remained, like Hashraa, were openly murderous. Others made a pretense of it: a number of the lizard-people had casually mentioned having eaten human flesh after killing adventurers, but that had turned out to be a boast, and they had admitted when Cypora questioned them that they found the idea unappealing. In the latter case, it simply added to the bluff that Cypora wanted to create of the ‘scary evil queen’. But she did not wish to take it too far; the entire point of being ‘evil’ was to oppose the corrupt ‘goodness’ of adventurers.

She couldn’t make that work out if innocent people were being tortured.

“Do you suppose,” she ventured, “we could direct that at the adventurers, only? Expand the Avanturistyegers into something larger, more genuine?”

With excellent timing, Orangella sat down at the table. She gestured to the stall. “I got the price down to half, but we’ll have to haul the crates ourselves. I guess we’re not taking the whole dozen.”

“Nu, I can carry most of them, if I float” Cypora responded. “But did you catch any of what we said there?”

“Yeah, I did,” Orangella said. She shut her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. “We’ll need someone to give them direction. Scoloaster’s a good start, and Lináloe’s anger is just directed at adventurers. The taily-pos only care about getting back what’s stolen. And that’s just the First Company, which is only six people, anyway. If we expand the Second Company to more than one member….”

“You made light of the ranks and status, but perhaps we should take them more seriously,” Shiaroc suggested.

“If we do that,” Orangella began, and paused again. “If we do that, there’s something I want to do, first. I want to see if the dungeon extends into the yenne velt, and if I can get down there.”

“Visiting the donstairsikes?”‡ Cypora chuckled. “Of course. We should learn as much as we can about the dungeon, in and out, up and down. Maybe you could even find some cousins?”

“Maybe,” Orangella smiled.

“So, discuss it with them, but hold off on formal recruitment, especially since you want them to settle back into living a bit before putting them on the heels of adventurers?” Sefora said.

“Sounds good,” Cypora agreed, reaching to look over the pages in question. There were details of the lives of each, and, in a useful bit, the natures of their transgressions in that time. It seemed to have some bearing on the costs of bringing them back, though there were other factors she could not entirely work out. It was possible that half of it was simply Q’dushah’s whims. “I see some possibilities, a few of these sound like they might want to do it even if we don’t ask them. So! We bring back this bunch, and then it’s just all the folks who only want to come back as zombies and dybbuks and the like, which I’m sure Qurra will be pleased about.”

“What’s with you two?” Sefora asked, apparently not missing the scorn in Cypora’s voice.

“She just bugs me,” Cypora responded, curtly. The truth was that she didn’t know, and didn’t feel like examining it. “I can’t just be bothered by someone? I don’t have to be everyone’s friend.”

“Not a friend,” Shiaroc said, “but you should be her ally. You cannot rely only on friendship to be an overlord or queen.”

“Probably right, there. Anyway,” Orangella added, ”she likes you.”

Cypora didn’t realize she’d been leaning back on the bench until she nearly fell off of it. “She does not.”

A chorus of refutation met her.

“She’s always bugging ‘Ricia, gushing about you,” said Orangella.

“I think she at least admires you,” Shiaroc agreed. Her manner turned sly in a way that Cypora didn’t want to admit was exciting. “And maybe she hopes for more, if I am reading humans right.”

“She—” Cypora began, but was interrupted by Sefora.

“We need to solve your body language problems,” the loup-garou girl said, jabbing a finger at Cypora. “She’s been hanging on your every word when she wasn’t practically hanging on you, when you came by.”

“This is absurd,” Cypora insisted, and stood up, wobbling for a moment on a leg that shot with pain, before lifting herself up with the magic in her boots. She hovered her way over to the crates of dried fruits that had been set aside. “And it’s getting late, let’s get these paid for and ready to feed some bellies. Caracosa will already be waiting for us at the station in Kaf.”

There was silence behind her.

She turned back, already starting to bend down to lift some of the crates. “What?”

Shiaroc, Sefora, and Orangella looked at each other—or, more accurately, Sefora looked between Shiaroc and Orangella, and Orangella stared at Shiaroc and nodded towards Cypora. Even Sharf seemed to cast a concerned look her way.

Shiaroc spoke up, standing and walking up to meet her. “We are worried about your pains. This is not a normal amount of time for the changes to take place, for an overlord.”

Cypora had been hoping this wouldn’t come up, even though, rationally, she didn’t have a reason to hide it from her friends, allies, whatever she would call Shiaroc, now. She took a deep breath.

“I might have asked for some unusual changes,” she started to explain, before realizing it wasn’t really an explanation, and adding, “or more accurately, unusual conditions for the changes. I was hoping I could, well, hang onto it as an ace in case of something serious, to deal with a real threat.”

Shiaroc nodded. “You like to keep opponents misdirected. It works very well. But we are not your opponents.”

“You’re right,” Cypora admitted, standing up and pulling down her mask as a living half-giant and a dog rounded the corner. She didn’t feel like more strangers seeing her face. “I should’ve told you—everyone, but especially you—what it was.”

She was about to explain, she would swear, later on, when it came up. Really, she was. But Alícha de Matos rounded a corner and walked into Shiaroc.

“Sorry, Miss Frawley,” she began, but looked up and saw Shiaroc. “You?”

It was absurd. The adventurer had been left far outside of the dungeon, far even from Crossroads. Cypora had made sure the Avanturistyegers had seen to that, even giving Scoloaster instructions to try to leave her nearer to a place where she could be distracted by other things than finding her way back to the Timber Barony, based on what the dybbuk had plucked out of her mind while possessing her. On top of all of that, she’d had the instructions for the one other volunteer, the sole member of the Second Company. Everything should have kept the dangerous little brute as far away from her dungeon and its people as possible, but here she was, interrupting things between her and Shiaroc again.

She heard herself and Shiaroc repeat the question from Alícha, “you?”

It was too much. She grabbed her shepherd’s axe from where it was stuffed through her belt, under her cloak, and lashed out without any expertise or direction. “What are you doing here?”

Surprise worked in her favor, but aim didn’t, and she caught Alícha with the blunt side, rather than the axe head. Enough of her anger and strength went into the blow, though, and it knocked her back; Alícha clutched at her rib where the wild attack had landed.

Cypora put her will back into the boots, and flew up and out of reach, casting a quick eye over the area. The half-giant and dog had reacted, and were moving to support Alícha, who had unsheathed her sword and was backing up, taking fast, wide glances. She still had the eyepatch, but Cypora couldn’t count on her fighting ability being affected by it.

Nearer to Alícha, three more adventurers. A zombie in oversized clothes and with an even more oversized sword—that must have been the reason they were in Sheol, for a resurrection—and two more mortal-looking humans, one pale and straw-haired with a nasty-looking hammer, and the other with long black hair and a longer bow that already had an arrow nocked. Among them, the last Avanturistyeger, her intended double agent, staring straight at her.

She caught their eye, and mouthed, “not yet,” shaking her head.

An arrow zipped through the fabric of her cloak, grazing her arm.

* It had been agreed that an alcoholic beverage would be too pricey and not truly thirst-quenching would be more suitably replaced with something they could make from scratch, with some cheap ingredients. Fortunately, there was a source of cheap, strong ginger in Sheol, and vinegar was in plentiful supply. The truly costly part would be sweetening it, as the dead seemed to relish their sugar and neither syrup nor honey came at a low bulk price. Cypora made mental notes to convince Keturah to start arranging for beekeeping at the dungeon, which would be easy, and to see about tapping the maple trees, which would be complex and required expertise she lacked.

† This was false, but Cypora had no way of discerning a shapeshifter in human guise, at least, not prior to becoming the overlord of the dungeon. Individuals of several kinds had entered and left her life between her birth and adulthood.

‡ “Downstairs neighbors”

The 29th of Lumeary, 5647 CC, Alícha.

Alícha saw Tavi loose an arrow at Cypora, in the same instant that the lizard-person Shiaroc swung out her tail like a whip. The very end caught Alícha as she dodged, slashing her clothes but not doing more than scratching her.

“Who the—?” Broke yelped, unbuckling zir sword and moving to defend her, even as she moved back to form a circle with her party. Pheribee was joining them, as was Lucky.

“Remember those rumors about ‘adventurer-hunting monsters’?” she yelled even as Cypora and her monstrous allies began to call to each other. It had been the biggest new chatter among adventurers since the last dungeon discovery. “This is their boss and her buddies!”

A cloud of smoke encircled them in a ring, expanding up into a wall. “What’s happening?”

Dots were connected. The other girl she’d recognized, who must have been the Orangella of the Wisps from the stories going around. “The mazik, half-shedah! She can manipulate smoke and shadow, watch your eyes and breath!”

“Got it,” Pheribee replied matter-of-factly, and swirled one hand over her head. It made a little tornado with their party at the eye, spiralling the smoke into the dark sky of Sheol.

Even as she did, Orangella was leaping through the wind to attack, and from the other sides, Cypora, Shiaroc, and a loup-garou. Alícha moved to protect Tavi, who did better at range, and caught Shiaroc’s attack with her sword. The wooden staff the towering beast-woman used was heavier than it looked, and Alícha felt like she had blocked steel instead of wood. The least she’d get out of this would be an agonizingly sore arm.

As she traded blows with Shiaroc, Alícha caught sight of the others fighting. Tavi dropped herself into Pheribee’s hand, and the anaqah tossed her out of the middle of the fight into some haystacks a good distance away. In the adrenaline-sped thinking of battle, Alícha had just enough time to wonder what kind of crops the land of the dead grew that they had haystacks in the first place—and then she was bracing against a sweep of Shiaroc’s tail to her legs.

She let herself tumble over, rolling into the fall rather than just being tripped, and caught her opponent with a sword strike that managed to stab between the wooden slats and pierce leather. Unfortunately, only a shallow stab. She had time to move her sword to defend as Shiaroc reacted, and dodged swings of the staff that kicked up a cloud of dirt around her, hopping back.

Tavi was loosing arrows that thudded into the loup-garou, but didn’t seem to achieve much. The problem with shapeshifters was that, even in human form, too few things truly hurt them. This one was heavily bandaged, and ugly scars were visible beneath as she grew into a larger form. ‘A wolf on two legs’ would have been a way to describe it, if you only knew wolves from old illustrations by people who had only seen wolves in nightmares. Far too many teeth, far too much mouth. Arms and legs too long by half. Eyes that gleamed yellow as the full moon.

Broke was engaged with fighting Orangella, pairing zir sword with zir ink-slingers. More than just a distraction or a means to create a slippery surface, Broke had picked up the magical skill of making the released ink go where ze wanted, and achieving strange effects by writing into the air and onto whatever surface ze wished to affect. The name of an angel of air the fell on the mazik, and she was flung back, the candle in her hand cast away.

Pheribee and Lucky were paired off against one of the strange dogs that accompanied Cypora, an axe-faced creature. Alícha had read up on the creatures she encountered in the dungeon after her previous battle with Cypora, and even more so once the rumors started to reach her ears; this “axehandle hound” was far larger and more densely-muscled than most.

Cypora was faced by Lodemia, who was snarling and using the haft of her sledgehammer like a spear, jabbing at the ‘Evil Queen’. But Cypora’s axe was faster, and lighter, and while Lodemia’s frenzy made her ridiculously strong, it didn’t make a sledgehammer any less unwieldy a weapon. Even an enchanted one.

The 29th of Lumeary, 5647 CC, Cypora

Cypora dodged the hammer blows, not with great effort but a good deal of frustration. Her opponent was the type of adventurer who was famous for giving in to a berserker rage as a path to strength. If any of her strikes landed, they would have been devastating, but with such an absurdly oversized weapon, she was slowed and couldn’t match up to the lightness and speed Cypora’s boots granted her.

Another oversized weapon was in the hands of the zombie. Some sort of magic-user who balanced enchantments with ink and the use of the sword, but what an absurd sword. It had the reach to catch Orangella, but since Orangella was better at a distance, anyway, the fight was in her favor. It didn’t help that the zombie kept casting spells that actually maintained the distance between zir and Orangella.

Sefora was doing just as well, casually plucking arrows out of her now fully-transformed body, and moving to assist Shiaroc, who was battling Alícha. Where Shiaroc had started to use a staff of enchanted wood from the dungeon, Sefora had picked her weapons from among what the Avanturistyegers had recovered.

Even Sharf had an opponent, battling both the dog and the anaqah. The dog was yelling out incantations of spells, and the air around them was swirling and twisting in nauseating ways.

Cypora didn’t know about those last two. The reports that had been snuck back to the dungeon by her agent had covered the details of Alícha’s party, and other sightings. In fact, the details of the reports were part of why she was now so frustrated.

The damnable thing about it was that Alícha seemed to be one of the only halfway decent adventurers. It was as if she’d taken all of Cypora’s anger and insults during their first fight back in the mortal world, and started trying to turn around the institution of adventuring. But it was an institution, and Cypora knew that the corruption and greed ad the heart of it were too much for Alícha de Matos to dismantle, especially if she was doing so while still being an adventurer herself. It was frustrating, maddening, even. It had kept her up, the nights after each report. If the other girl hadn’t gotten into adventuring, they might have even wound up allies, friends.

But that wasn’t how it had worked out. Maybe in the future, maybe if they could get out of this battle.

[livelikebrent]

5th Annual Carve 4 Cancer Winter Sports & Music Festival

“And here you are living despite it all.” I’ve read this quote by Rupi Kaur (I adore her words) dozens of times since Brent has passed. Despite everything that has happened, here I am. Here YOU are. Living, carrying on and still standing. When Brent passed away last July, Carve 4 Cancer was the last thing I wanted to think about or put my energy towards. Honestly, I didn’t have much to begin with and I didn’t want to have any additional responsibilities. I was worried. I was worried how Brent’s family, friends and loved ones were. It was natural to shift my emotions and concerns from Brent to these people that were so close to him. I decided to put the energy I did have towards traveling and writing to help with my grieving process. But despite it all, the Carve Crew carried on. The tragic event gave the team inspiration to help ignite #LiveLikeBrent and start the planning process for Brent’s biggest and best winter festival to date. This isn’t a traditional blog entry from a Live Like Brent trip...but it’s still a worthy post.

It was probably around mid-October when I finally came to and was ready for the conference calls, email chains, text messages and solicitation for the February 3rd event. But in the mean time I met with the Crew and we visited Blue Mountain Ski Resort which has become our new home and part of the family. 

After visiting Blue we became inspired. The venue was a complete upgrade compared to our previous years, the staff was giving us an overwhelming amount of support when it was only September. While it was extremely saddening to not have Brent present, I think it’s safe to say that we were all grateful to have one another going into the 5th year for this event and we were going to put our heart and soul into it.

Weeks leading up to the event I think I felt almost every emotion possible. I’d find myself beyond upset that at 28 going on 29 years old I found myself honoring a boyfriend that was no longer on this Earth. No one should ever have to do that. No mother or father should have to bury their son. I relived the last week, days and hours in the hospital I spent with Brent. I found myself angry at times and reminded myself patience is a virtue. I just wanted it to be a perfect and exciting day for Brent’s family, friends and people that would encounter Carve 4 Cancer for the first time. I found myself anxious. I would catch myself in these emotions and try to check myself. I found myself excited looking forward to seeing everyone, to release the new merch and have the event at the new venue. I was stressed and probably any other emotion you could think of to add to the list too. Some people would say, “That’s what putting an event on is like, it’s stressful.” Yes and no. I’ve been planning events professionally for 8 years now and I’m one of the calmest event planners you will meet. I’ve been told by previous bosses that they’ve never seen me lose my cool or physically show stress - especially day of an event. One boss even told me she wanted to see me lose my cool. Sure, some of you may have lost me in a conversation on an event day as I have a thousand thoughts flying through my head like a sponsor I need to check on, or thank a donor for attending, or adjust the placement of an auction item...but I’ve never broken down. But having had this all happen and having this team along side of me has also been helpful. We’re made up of event planners, snowboarders familiar with the scene, handymen and friends that will help wherever it is needed.

I took the Friday off before the event and checked into the rental for the weekend. I wanted to get a day of snowboarding in with a trip to Colorado the following weekend. Plus, we set-up the evening prior. I had not been on my board since winter of 2016 when Brent was somewhat well enough to carve down the mountain. The winter of 2017 was the ONLY ski season he had missed. I know that upset him. But the house we stayed in was awesome with a view of the mountain, hot tub and right around the corner from Blue. Brent and I never snowboarded on Carve 4 Cancer weekends. By the time we got to the mountain to set-up we were exhausted, woke up the next day for the event and then always intended on snowboarding the day after...but always just wanted to go home and relax by that point.

Brent always wanted to help others...in any way, shape or form. I think everyone knows that and that impacted a lot of individuals. When we started planning the 2018 Winter Festival, I started receiving texts, Facebook messages and phone calls on how Brent’s friends could help. Some felt so compelled to get involved...Adam joined the team and created wooden awards for the mountain, Brendan wanted to create the day of event poster and refurbished an old chair lift , Matt offered to have his band, Fake Flowers Real Dirt, perform at the event (they ROCKED it by the way) and our Ambassador program gained several new members. Everyone wanted to help - Brent always wanted more friends to become hands on...I’m glad several decided to because they made the event that much better.

Day of the event Brent would be off shaking hands, kissing babies, interviewing and stopping by the sponsor booths to thank them while I’d be wondering around the event, troubleshooting where needed, checking on raffles/volunteers and trying to capture the day when I could. It was rare that we were together. And if we were together, he was introducing me to dozens of people. But I always made sure we could snap a photo together...

Carve 4 Cancer 2015 - 372 days before re-diagnosis

Carve 4 Cancer 2016 - 6 days before re-diagnosis

Carve 4 Cancer 2017 - 358 days after re-diagnosis

Carve 4 Cancer 2018 - Day 203 without Brent

I was never one to really take a lot of photos. Sure, every once in a while. But ever since Brent got sick we started taking more together. I don’t know how I feel about that. I think it’s a realization I (maybe we) had...memories are wonderful but it’s nice to look back at a photo you may have forgotten about. As technology advances people aren’t “living in the moment” and are staring at their screens. But I think there’s a balance you can find.

Last year’s, 2017 winter festival was a tough one for Brent. I can’t help but look back and reflect on that event now a year later. We had JUST made it back to from being in New York City for about 5 months to Philadelphia. He so badly wanted to make it back home to be at Carve. He was in an immense amount of pain that day, completely wiped, he was highly embarrassed that he needed to use the bathroom so frequently and more so that he couldn’t control his bowel due to his graft versus host disease. He wanted to party with everyone but knew he couldn’t because his body simply wouldn’t allow him to. Regardless, he muscled through it as much as he could. He did that a lot. I don’t think many people realized how much pain he was in or how exhausted he actually was...that’s because he pushed himself to do so damn much. You’d see him and think, “Well, he made it out here and he’s doing XYZ so he must be doing okay or on the upswing.” When you call Brent a “warrior” or “brave”...you really have no idea. I don’t think there’s a word yet for what Brent was because he was so much more than that.

Did I think that was going to be Brent’s last Carve 4 Cancer? No way. When his roommate, Ryan, and I carried him down his apartment staircase on July 5, 2017. He asked me, “Ais, am I dying?” I told him, “No way. You’re going to be fine.” When taking a step back and looking at it...We all knew it was bad. We all knew it was scary. I mean, it was goddamn CANCER. But we all thought it would all be “okay.”

We were all busy little bees the day of the event on Saturday. This year I found myself taking Brent’s place in where I was the one catching up with his family, family friends, people introducing themselves to me, taking interviews while also troubleshooting here and there with the team. 

Photo by Noche Studio

“He would’ve loved the event.” and “He’s so proud of all of you.” are comments we’ve been receiving over and over again. It’s downright sad. It’s bitter sweet. But it’s humbling as all hell to see the love, support and hard work pay off.  I’m confident in those words and will give my entire team an ego boost by saying this was the best damn Carve 4 Cancer event we’ve had...not only in fundraising dollars, but aesthetically, musically (check out Lawrence who blew the roof off of the Vista Ballroom) and everything in between. I mean, we had a beer named after Brent with Yards called Uncle Brent’s Brew! We had Murf Meyer as our emcee! We are a 501c3 non-profit and this year we were as professional as a snowboard/ski charity could be. Not to mention we were published in Method Snowboarding Magazine...

If you didn’t make it out to the 2018 Carve 4 Cancer Winter Sports and Music Festival, I hope we will get to see you next year. Without Brent, I do understand it’s not the same. But you’re support is so appreciated by myself, the Carve Crew and the Evans family. We’re excited to continue to expand Carve and raise funds for the mission. But shredding blood cancers starts with you.