#wooden toad instrument

[anakahaia]

Inktober 2023

Day 8: Toad

It’s friend shaped!

[thetoaddaddy]

@storiedocs ❤️ for wedding thing

Summer wedding. On the toad mountain. Its hot and humid but pretty!

Shima would kinda take it over. She wants her boy to look good if he’s going to marry Chitose on their turf. There’s a temple of sorts for the sages among them. It’s rather pretty on the outside.

It would be homemade things. Some flowers and fabric bows strung together draped over rocks and the oversized foliage. The colours being bright and happy, yellow, pink, white, green. More in a pastel range. Homemade wooden things, carved out bowls and cups, a wooden dish full of water and floating candles. Daisies, wild roses, irises, cattails all over the place.

Casual bride and groom wear. Chitose in something in a pale colour to compliment the scenery. Like blue or pink. In a fade gradient from a more saturated colour to pale. With a contrasting obi that has a big bow on the back. Jir in something more fun and bright too. In toad culture the bright colours are for happy occasions after all. So yellow and white for him. Mostly just toads there so not much for dress code.

Toady croaks to accompany the aisle walk. Toad vows are more personal, and a little unusual. But who doesn’t want to promise to always share their bugs and carry their young on their back?

Reception is basically the whole mountain. Ain’t no party like a toad party. They don’t have many instruments they’re pretty low key. Pretty drum heavy. Makes for a fun first dance.

Since it’s so hot up there it’s not hard to find a cozy spot to just pass out. Since there’s so many toads there isn’t any bugs.

[kulturegroupie]

Led Zeppelin performing at the Spectrum, Philadelphia, PA, March 31, 1970.

Enter Robert Plant, lead singer. He looked like Rapunzel with a comb out. Wearing a body shirt and spray-on blue bells, he gave every straight chick and gay guy the treat of their day. Throughout the first number he seemed more involved in displaying his pelvic virtuosity than his vocal skill. While prancing in his wooden shoes, he thrust out his groin and shimmied his fanny in a delightfully outrageous manner. Finishing his first song with a sexual assualt on the microphone, Plant stood sweating amid the moderate applause of the crowd.

Seeing that his technique only had minimal success on the hip Philadelphia audience, he decided to let them hear what they came for, the LED ZEPPELIN. The rest of Plant’s numbers showed that he was a better singer than eroticist. He squeezed everything he could out of the “Lemon Song,” “Good Times, Bad Times,” “Dazed and Confused”, “How Many More Times” and “Whole Lotta Love”.

The rest of the group, to my amazement, were fantastic. Some of the guitar work by Jimmy Page was even better than the record, which is saying a lot. His use of a violin bow in playing an electric guitar produces some devastating variations which have become the ZEPPELINS trademark. Page assualts, rapes, stomps, beats, and loves his guitar into submission. The instrument seems to say, “you know I can’t do this but if you insist, I’ll try”, every time Page produces another new sound on his versatile music machine. In his solo “Black Mountainside” Page displayed incredible skill and gaged by their reaction the audience realized it.

The LED ZEPPELIN’s drummer Richard Bonham got it on in a thirty minute solo. His speed on the drums seemed to rival Ginger Baker and his rhythm seemed more practiced and accurate than the sometimes sloppy “Toad”: Bonham used drumsticks for the first fifteen minutes and then abandoned them to play only with his hands. It gave the impression of a modern revolutionary beating the war drums but whatever the impression the huge Spectrum crowd dug it, and gave him a standing, clapping, shouting, whistling ovation at the end of his half hour ordeal.

LED ZEPPELIN’s organ was prominent in their first album and a solo base guitar by John Paul Jones showed why. This number showed that the group indeed has depth and that each member can hold court to several thousand critical Philadelphians. By the encore, however, his bass was dragging, as could be seen in “Whole Lotta Love”.

At 11:30 P.M. an exhausted LED ZEPPELIN left the Spectrum stage from the last encore. They were happy. The crowd was happy (Plant made sure of that by asking them several times during the performance. The last time he asked, the notorious Spectrum roof blew off from the audiences responses.) And I was happy. Even with the Spectrum’s inferior acoustics nothing could stop them. The LED ZEPPELIN had renewed my faith in electric rock concerts with a fine performance.

— By Clark Deleon

[author-morgan]

Kryptic ↟ Deimos

thirty-three - beacon in the night

masterlist

But the great leveler, Death: not even the gods can defend a man, not even one they love, that day when fate takes hold and lays him out at last.

Death submits to no one, not even Dread and Destruction.

They are both weapons of flesh and bone, of warm blood and beating hearts, and they cannot be controlled.

LESYA STRIDES INTO the Spartan war camp with the blood of their brother-in-arms still on her hands. She drives her spear into the ground and glances around at the sparring hoplites before approaching the central pavilion with the sealed edict in hand. The flaps are pulled open, a gathering of three men surround a small table looking over a fading and partially torn map of Boeotia and Attika. She almost pities the Spartan commander until he looks up– “Stentor?”

“You!” Stentor hisses, quarter drawing the short sword from his belt. The men under his command echo the motion, drawing swords and leveling spears. She takes a step back, hand reaching behind her back —fingers brushing over the cool leather hilt of her blade but instead, wrap around a piece of papyrus. 

“I have a message from the Kings of Sparta,” Lesya announces, holding out the scroll for all to see. The thunder of voices ebbs, all eyes on the sealed edict. Stentor —chest heaving— slams his sword back into its sheath, then spins away, stomping to the table at the center of the tent. Lesya follows him with the wary eyes of the Spartiates watching.

He takes the scroll and unfurls the message, face twisting and falling as he reads King Pausanias’s orders. Stentor rolls the edict back up. “Why was this entrusted to you?” He asks, sneering as he turns from the table —throwing the edict into a brazier to burn. She carried her own death sentence. 

Lesya watches the papyrus and ink burn, unable to discern any of the writing before flames take hold. “Brasidas asked me to deliver it,” she answers with a shrug, still unsure of why the general would trust her with such a task given her transgressions against him and Sparta. 

Stentor braces his weight against the map table, looking down at the fading rivers and hills and the markers for the Athenian and Spartan forces. What happened in Megaris still leaves a bitter taste in Stentor’s mouth, but he cannot deny her slaughter of the leader had been instrumental in their campaign’s success. He sees her as a means to an end, a tool to obtain victory in Boeotia and then discard. “I suppose now that you’re here–” he straightens and crosses his arms “–you may be of use.”

They glance at the map, and the stones huddled together representing the Korinthian fleet near the harbor city of Korsia. Stranded at sea for two moons, blocked on land by the Athenian army and at sea by their navy. “Our allies cannot make landfall,” Stentor says, motioning for his harmost and strategos to join them. Both men regard Lesya with disdain —each has seen men die at the blades of a ghost with copper hair. 

“You need me to clear a path,” Lesya surmises, whether by slaughter or diversion the Korinthian fleet needs to make landfall if Sparta is to secure Boeotia. She leans over the table, committing the lines of the city streets and walls to memory. 

“If you think you can manage what my men could not–” Stentor glares at her, his dark eyes harsh as daggers “–then yes.” 

Silence takes hold of the air, broken by the sound of knuckles cracking. Lesya looks up from the map —she will see the Spartan army receives the aid of their allies, if only for spite. Stentor rounds the table, exiting the tent. Sparing a final look at the map, she turns to follow. 

“Have you heard of the Boeotian Champions?” he asks, standing on a promontory overlooking Thebes in the distance. The meddlesome warriors spur the morale of the Athenian forces with each desecrated Spartan corpse. Lesya nods, know how to test the strength and resolve of Boeotian myths and legends. “Good.” His smile is grim. With the likes of her, they can end the war. “They say you are a weapon–” Lesya grimaces at his words and the reminder of what she’d been to the Cult “–be my weapon and secure this region for Sparta.” 

Her laurel gaze settles on the horizon —there is work to be done. Stentor grips onto her forearm before she can leave, drawing her close. “But do not forget,” he hisses, “I know who you are and that your blood is tainted.”

In turn, Lesya grips onto his vambrace and leans toward him with a smile capable of haunting dreams. “And do not forget that I could quash you and use your bones to pick my teeth,” she bites back. Stentor’s face —painted red with anger— drains of color. Pausanias has assigned him an impossible task. If the Cult’s champion wasn’t able to stop her, then how could he hope to do so? “You do not command me, Stentor,” Lesya grits out, eyes burning with unspeakable rage. “It would do you well to remember that.”

SHE CREEPS FORWARD through the fen and toward the harbor village. The night is muggy and the sky clear —the moon and stars shining like beacons, betraying everything in their silver veil. She stoops down, lifting wet earth to coat the metal pommel and edge of her daggers. Toads croak, and foxes and voles dart in and out of the tall ferns and shrubs. She halts at the edge of Korsia. 

Athenian hoplites line the wooden walls of the dock. The rest of the garrison —two taxiarchies each five hundred strong— sit encamped in and around the village streets. Stentor’s reticence had been wise. Assaulting this well-defended fort without the Korinthian fleet would bring the Spartans to their knees, and Boeotia would fall into Athens’ hands. Such a defeat could end the war.  

Bawdy roars echo from the hastily prepared taverns —where there are soldiers, there are drinks and hetaerae to warm their cots. Archers keep silent vigilance on the walls and rooftops, watching the seas and the streets. Against the stone buildings of the harbor, one structure stands out —a freshly hewn timber tower, upon which an archer strode with his chest bare and blue-and-white cape glinting. Far beyond the tower was the dark shapes of the Korinthian fleet, pocked with torches and braziers. The Korinthians could not hope to make landfall anywhere along the coastline without losing most of their men. 

She looks over her shoulder, eyeing the edges of bronze shields and the silver points of Spartan shields —all waiting for a signal. Ten men, Lesya thinks with silent laughter, I could do this alone. Turning back to the town, she moves through the thick ferns and around the outskirts of the walls. A break in the palisade just large enough for her to squeeze through and a sleeping guard presents her with a way in. 

Crouching next to the sleeping hoplite, Lesya unsheathes one of her daggers and draws it across the man’s neck. Blood gurgles, his eyes open wide, but he cannot cry out —seconds pass, and then he takes the outstretched arm of Charon. Throwing the fading blue cape across the corpse, she moves forward, gaze fixed on the archer’s tower. A pair of hoplites draw near to her hiding spot low in the flower beds at the front of a villa —their muted conversations rise and fall as they pass. 

Darting from the flower bed, she comes to the tower —pitch and oil-filled amphorae sit around the base, filling the fair with a heavy stench. Lesya turns her attention from the amphorae to the top of the archer’s tower, following a path of notches and binding ropes. The planks at the top of the platform groan as an archer strides back-and-forth. 

Lesya leaps up, clamping her hand over the archer’s mouth as her blade sinks into the soft flesh of his neck. She lets the archer’s body down silently and turns to the landward side of the village. Taking the archer’s bow and an arrow, she tears a strip of fabric from his chiton and ties it about the shaft, setting it alight. Lesya draws back the flaming arrow, aiming skyward and across the water —a streak of orange light across the clear sky. 

Long moments slip past as she watches the black hills in the distance —then one after another, small fires start to pock to the landscape and the Athenian hoplites manning the walls take notice. A war drum sounds in the distance, followed by the low moan of a war horn. The still of the night is broken by shouting. Hundreds of men spill from the taverns and tents into the streets and fenland. “Spartans!” They cry. “Take up arms!” The two taxiarchies fall into shambled formations, spreading out from Korsia to face the oncoming phantom army. 

Looking out over the water, Lesya remembers the stench from the jars of pitch and oil. A beacon. She glances between the burning brazier and amphorae below and acts rather than thinking. The flames topple downward, clay shatters, and fire takes hold of the tower with an explosion. Taking a running leap, Lesya plummets from the tower and into a pile of hay. Over the roar of the flames and shouting from the Athenians, the low echo of a hundred war drums fills the air as the Korinthian fleets bear down on the Boeotian shoreline. 

KASSANDRA FOLLOWS THE trail of blood and strung up bodies along the narrow forest path where whispers said she would find Deianeira and Astra. The Eagle Bearer stops at the last two corpses swaying in the breeze —both belong to women. One hangs by the ankle —throat gaping open with fresh blood still dripping to the patch of grass below. The second has a hole carved into her chest, her heart pinned to the trunk of the tree with an arrow and an ivory mask weeping red. She feels her stomach churn —Lesya. 

Ahead smoke rises, and through the trees, the misthios can see a small fire with a single shadow sitting beside it. “Doing my work for me?” Kassandra asks, sitting opposite of her. Long months have passed since they parted ways in Lakonia. Ikaros descends through the pines, perching on a boulder —mistrustful eyes trained on Lesya as she runs a worn whetstone down the edge of a spear-tip. 

“I work for myself, misthios,” she reminds Kassandra, feeling the leaf-shaped blade bite into the pad of her thumb. “It just happens our goals are aligned.” Satisfied with her work, she drives the spear into the ground next to her and reaches into a small canvas pouch. Lesya tosses a fragment of the artifact at Kass’ feet, proof of another successful hunt. “Deianeira is no more.”

The Eagle Bearer glances back at the path of corpses. “And the others?”

Lesya shrugs. “They got in my way.” 

The callous response sends a cold shiver down Kassandra’s spine. She imagines Lesya has left similar trails of destruction across Hellas. “You’ve been busy then?”

Her laugh is morose, her smile grim. There is a dark glint in her eyes that Kassandra has never seen before —something has changed her. “Carved a path for the Korinthian fleet to make landfall and have rid Hellas of three more Cultists,” Lesya answers. A more impressive feat than winning an Olympic wreath. 

At the edge of the clearing, something rustles in the underbrush. Lesya reaches for the small blade on the inside of her bracer. A hare jumps from into the open, and Lesya’s stomach grumbles. She flicks the blade into the air, catching the hare by the neck —it squeals once, then falls still and silent. Rising, she goes to collect her kill. 

Kassandra watches as Lesya skins the hare, the silver rays of Selene’s light dappling her skin through the canopy above. Her cuts are precise and efficient —the work of one used to taking life and skin from the living, whether it be man or beast. She guts the dead animal first, dumping the offal into a shallow hole but keeping the heart and liver before slicing a neat line all along the underbelly and ripping the skin free in a single tug. It may not be much, but it will fill their bellies for the night.

Fat drips down onto the stones surrounding the fire, sizzling as Lesya turns the hare over the flames using one of her daggers. Kassandra watches still, honing the blade of her kopis. She wants to ask after her brother —to know if Lesya has seen Deimos since they parted ways, but she refrains. A part of her knows the darkness surrounding her is because of him. Neither of them can find much more to say, not even as they split the roast hare. 

Lesya lays back under the stars with a soft sigh and cannot help but wonder if Deimos is looking up at the same night sky. 

[taglist:  @wallsarecrumbling @novastale @fucking-dip-shit @elizabethroestone @maximalblaze @balmacedapascal @elizabethroestone @kitkitvm @dynamicorbit @kvitravn]

[hrexandro]

OSR session 1

4th day of the first month of spring, Year of the Rat

Tomb of the Serpent Kings, ran with OSE, using the Death & Dismemberment Table from GLOG.

Player characters:

Pier, Magic-User

Jessica, Thief

Priest, Cleric

The adventurers, lured by the prospect of buried riches, followed a map bought by Priest from an old wanderer and ventured a day’s travel distance from the town of Torsfeld, into the hilly wilderness to the Northeast.

They arrived in the early evening. Upon entering the dungeon’s corridor, they investigated the first room to the right. The party huddled around a clay statue depicting a snake-man. Priest decided to do what came naturally to him, as an Iconoclastic zealot, and promptly smashed the monstrous image with his warhammer. As they were placed around pretty tightly, none escaped the toxic poison gas exploding from within. Pier became sickly from the toxin. Jessica, however, was hit hardest – the poison ravaged her body, her left leg and right eye became numb and useless.

The party brought her out and stabilized her. Afterwards, Priest scoured the remains, recovering a golden amulet and smashing the skeletal remains within the pile. They decided to hole up in the chamber to spend the next day to recuperate, after gathering enough firewood to keep them with ample light and warmth, and scattering dry wood around the corridor to warn them of anyone who might be approaching. They discuss whether to cut off Jessica’s numb leg, which remained useless, making it necessary for the party to assist her in movement, but decide against it.

The next day (evening) they cursorily investigated the other rooms branching from the corridor and approached the Sorcerer’s Tomb, containing another clay statue with the image of a snake-man sorcerer. Priest wanted to pry off a silver ring from the figure’s finger. Wary of poison gas, he carefully used a crowbar to remove the item, whilst being tied with a rope and held by the others to pull him out at the first sign of poison gas. They succeeded.

After that they used a sling to destroy the statues in the remaining two rooms, removing their amulets and smashing the snake-men bones within. Moving on to the barred door at the end of the corridor, when they figured two of them weren’t strong enough to lift the stone bar blocking the entrance, they decided to move it sideways. After the bar moved past one of the iron pegs on which it rested, it clicked and moved upwards. Upon noticing that, they ran away immediately. Causing the bar to partly fall to the side. However it still partly weighted down on the other peg, so the hammer trap hiding in the ceiling remained unsprung.

Then they tied a rope to the bar and working in unison, pulled it off the peg from a safe distance. Activating the hammer trap and smashing the stone door. They entered a large chamber  with another three clay statues to the North, an exit to the South, and piles of rotten grave goods in the middle. After having the limping Jessica check the walls of the room, they pierced the leftmost statue with a sling shot. A skeletal hand appeared in the hole. When they enlarged the hole with another shot, a skeletal Snakeoid head emerged, which was quickly blown off with Pier’s magic missile spell, the skeleton still pursued them, however, but they managed to quickly defeat it. It yielded them no treasure.

After that they went back to the chamber they spent the last day in, and slept the night, enabling Pier to regenerate his spell. They moved on to smash the rightmost statue. The emerging skeleton was promptly turned by Priest’s holy symbol. The skeleton escaped deeper into the tomb. The party heard various loud and intriguing sounds from the direction it went and decided to follow it, ignoring the remaining middle coffin.

The next small room had a statue of a horrid snake-man god (“resembling a cross between a toad, a heap of intestines, and a melted candle”) and a hole in the floor, eroded by flowing water. They investigated the statue and the hole, tied a rope to the statue and ventured down.

The corridor below was filled with six statues of snake-men warriors, upon noticing that one of them was out of alignment, they moved it so that it stood straight. When that did nothing, they moved it back the way it was, but no further, then abandoned it and moved on.

The corridor led to an octagonal chamber with a black pond in the middle, and a stone door on each wall, except the SE one, that had a wooden door, and the SW one, that had an open corridor. Each of the doors had a pair of snake-men statues on each side, each wielding various instruments of war, torture, agriculture or science. They diligently noted what each of the statues was holding and Pier threw a dagger into the pond (from a safe distance), figuring that one of the statues held a dagger, perhaps throwing a dagger would cause the stone door next to it to open.

When Priest approached the pond, a mummified hand crawled out of it, but was immediately smashed by Priest’s hammer. However, a second hand emerged from the pond and scratched his leg, before being zapped by Pier’s magic missile. While they were trying to patch-up bleeding and screaming Priest, the turned skeletal snake-man crawled out of the pond and escaped to the SW corridor.

They did not manage to stabilize Priest, he bled out from his leg and died. Jessica and Pier took some of his equipment, including the silver ring and golden amulet, then threw his body into the pond. They were disappointed that this “sacrifice” did not cause any of the doors (which they did not investigate, even cursorily) to open.

Priest’s body was thrown into the pond still bearing his, backpack, waterskin, tinderbox, rations, holy symbol, 12 torches, oil, hammer, dagger, sling, leather armor, 20 pieces of gold, and notably, the map that led them to the dungeon.

Jessica and Pier decide to return to town. The journey lasts notably longer due to Jessica’s limp. On their way they meet an Acolyte (random encounter), lost in the woods after avoiding a marauding tribe of troglodytes. They talk with him a bit, but remain suspicious.

Finally they reach the town of Torsfeld. Jessica buys a salve to treat her leg, paying with one of the golden amulets, but sees no immediate improvement. Pier makes use of a bathhouse, then leaves the remaining amulets and silver ring to the local wizard, Antymon, to identify whether they are magical. The wizard can keep one of the amulets as payment for the service. The turns out to be magical, the amulets, not.

They wait in town until Pier’s sickness comes to an end. Jessica puts on the silver ring, her finger becomes longer, her nail turns into a bifurcated claw. She is unable to remove the ring. At that moment, Jessica has a blind right eye, numb left leg and a double-clawed right ring finger. The next day they recruit a fighter found in a dark alley, he calls himself Swordsman. While they are talking, the ring’s poison takes effect. Jessica panics and demand Swordsman to quickly cut off the finger, he obliges. While she is suffering from the poison and bleeding from the amputation, Pier and Swordsman prove unable to stabilize her, made worse by the fact that they spent one round on cutting the finger off. Jessica dies. Pier and Swordsman take all her stuff and leave her dead in the dark alley where she bled out.

They attempt to sell the silver ring to dwarven cloth merchants staying at the local tavern, but they’re not happy with the price offered. Swordsman takes the ring to Antymon and manages to sell it, after divulging the magical properties of the cursed ring, that he himself was witness to.

They find the Acolyte that they met earlier to join them on an adventure for their next venture into the Tomb. His name is Bogumił. Pier visits the bathhouse again, while Swordsman stays at the tavern. Swordsman is approached by five men-at-arms and brought to the local Horka (baron). He is interrogated on the dead girl and answers truthfully, that the death was not his doing, but caused by a cursed ring. However, he admitted to taking Jessica’s belongings, and during interrogation mentioned that he is not a Christian. He is disarmed, stripped naked, and brought to a dungeon. Meanwhile Pier returns to the tavern, and after learning from the innkeeper that Swordsman was taken by the Horka’s men, goes to the noble’s residence, where he is also promptly arrested, tied, interrogated (he corroborates the Swordsman’s story), then stripped naked and imprisoned.

After an undisclosed period of time, Swordsman is brought out and offered baptism, to which he agrees. He is baptized, then brought back to the dungeon.

Both characters are taken to the Horka, he states that the local wizard Antymon confirmed what they said about the cursed ring. However, for the crime of robbing a dead person, they are sentenced to have both their hands cut off and then lashed 50 times.

Pier perished during the lashing.

Swordsman perished during the amputation, then was lashed post-mortem.

Bogumił, not knowing the way to the Tomb, as all the adventurers who have ventured there ended up dead, and not having a map (which was left with Priest’s body), decides to forego adventuring, for now.

Entries into the Book of the Dead:

†Priest, killed by a demonic hand in the Serpent Tomb.

†Jessica, perished from poison and blood loss In a dark alley of Torsfeld

†Pier, perished whilst being lashed for robbing a deceased person

†Swordsman, perished while having his hands amputated for robbing a deceased person

[toonsforkicks22]

Just a Couple of Weirdos (Amphibia one shot)

(”Wally and Anne” was an AMAZING episode! I just had to make this!)

The one-eyed frog was exactly where Anne hoped he would be. For a frog living in squalor, his residence wasn’t too shabby. Hoisting her backpack, the human girl made her way toward the small, familiar shack. The last time she came here had been when she joined the toad guards, breaking in without consent and raiding the place. She especially remembered how this had been the same place where she first acted in compassion, which slowly resulted in earning the town’s respect. 

As she knocked on the door, nervousness crept into her mindset. It was like hanging out with a new friend for the first time; and if Anne recalled, that moment happened rarely back home. 

She forced down a lump in her throat as the door swung open. Two eyes, one closed, stared back at her with surprise and awe. 

“Annabelle?” Wally exclaimed.

“H-hey,” the human greeted somewhat shyly, not even bothering to correct him on the given nickname. She actually kind of liked it. “How’s it going, Wally?”

“Oh, well, I’m good,” the musical amphibian responded, still a bit taken by the unexpected visit. “What brings you here, love? Wait, don’t tell me those toads are back!” he expressed anxiously. 

“No, no! There’s no toads! Just me!” Anne assured, giving a gentle smile. 

Wally gazed at her momentarily. The look of amazement was not lost on his face. _______

Anne sat on an old wooden chair that had probably been discarded at some point. It still held well as Anne leaned against it. The tea cup provided to her may or may not have been from the remains of a broken family’s home; still, it was in good condition. The tea itself, Anne specifically remembered was from the Grub N’ Go, similar to the kind Hop Pop made. 

Wally sat next her in another old chair, sipping his own cup. 

“I got to admit, love, I never get visitors,” he explained. 

“Really?” Anne asked. “Why’s that?”

“Oh,  you know, seeing as the town’s local crazy person and all,” he expressed nonchalantly. “Coming here, you’d think it’ll be the nuthouse.”  

“That’s not true,” she insisted. “This place is really nice. It reminds me of the clubhouse I’ve always wanted to have back home. But the other kids thought it was pretty weird, and my friends told me it was kind of childish.”

“Nonsense!” Wally cackled. “Those kids probably don’t know real fun even if it stung them in the eye!”

Anne chuckled. “You know I wish there was someone like you back home. Always, optimistic, not caring what anyone else thinks...”

“And maybe someone who could make you feel you don’t need to impress everyone?” Wally suggested, glancing at her knowingly. 

“What?” she said with a forced laugh. “What makes you think that?”

“Love, I know it’s not any of my business,” he began, giving her a serious, worrisome look. It reminded Anne so much of the expressions Hop Pop would give her if she was ever in the midst of danger. “But I get the distinct feeling you had to pull yourself one way and not being able to do things your way.”

“What? Of course not!” she insisted. “I mean, the other kids-”

“Make you feel bad about yourself and you got to aim to please in order to fit in,” he cut in gently. “Am I right?”

Anne couldn’t say anything. How was it that this guy of all people could actually have the intelligence of a psychiatrist? Heck, he did a better job than any of the counselors at school could even accomplish! 

She never thought a conversation with the local looney person could ever be this serious. But if her adventure with him to find the mysterious moss man was any indication, she and Wally weren’t that different. 

A gentle hand made its way to Anne’s, and she looked over at Wally. The one-eyed frog gave her a sympathetic look, with a smile to match. Anne couldn’t help but smile back. A month ago, he along with the rest of Wartwood had seen her as a freak. The mean comments that would make an online message board look peaceful, the lack of respect, and not to mention how Wally called her and Sprig’s friendship as ‘disgusting’.

Anne remembered how much she just wanted to go home and leave these ill-mannered jerks behind. But then she saw how vulnerable they were during the toads’ visit. And despite how she had been treated, Anne still looked out for them. 

Oh, how things have changed since then. Wartwood saw her as one of their own. Anne felt closer to the town than she ever dared believe. 

To think she initially saw Wally as deadbeat, moronic, and above all too crazy to hang around. Spending this time with him made her realize what an artistic, sweet, passionate, caring, and selfless person he was. Not to mention he had great hair under that hat of his. If it wasn’t for the age and species difference, he would have made for an entertaining student at her school. Maybe Sasha and Marcie would have liked him. Or maybe they wouldn’t. If the latter, Anne wouldn’t have allowed their opinions get in the way of her friendship with him. 

All these thoughts made Anne realize that she never had a conversation this deep before. In fact, she had never opened up to Sprig like this, and he was her best friend!

Come to think of it, she didn’t even tell Sprig where she was going. She had been too set on visiting Wally, she forgot. 

Oh, well, maybe it wasn’t too bad.  _______

Sprig opened the door leading his best friend’s room, a wide grin on his face. 

“Hey, Anne!” he called excitedly. “Want to see some drawings I made? They’re all inspired by Suspicion Island! One of them is a character I made up who would totally fit into the variety of characters on the show. Also, spoiler alert, he’s a competitor for Chad.”

His only response was silence. 

“Anne?” he called again. He turned on the mushroom lamp, seeing an empty bed. 

“Anne went out, Sprig,” Hop Pop called from the kitchen, reading a book. “Had something to do, I think.”

“Oh, I guess that’s okay,” Sprig said nonchalantly. 

Five seconds passed and-

Sprig kicked the front door open with his foot before hopping off. 

“How could she go off without me?” he exclaimed frantically as he left the farm. “Maybe something bad happened and I was too occupied to notice! Anne! Anne! ANNE!”

“Clingy much?” Polly muttered while reading on the couch. _______

Meanwhile, Wally and Anne were taking a stroll through the woods. The former allowed his accordion to be used on account of how well Anne was doing with it. Not to mention the song she thought at the top of her head sounded wonderful. 

“Now I find myself in the wild unknown, with the frogs and toads, and I’m far from home,” the human sang aloud in rhythm with the accordion. “But there’s so much here to discover! One leap after another! Hop into the adventure! Gotta ribbit, ribbit, jump on it!”

”That was beautiful, love!” Wally encouraged. “Is that all you got?”

“Not really sure about the rest of the words,” she responded sheepishly. “I got to work on that. But, man, I never thought accordions could be so much fun. Back home my friends would think instruments like these were lame. I was too scared to sign up for a music club because of that.”

“Oy, you really got to stop listening to what they think, Anne,” Wally insisted. “Real friends wouldn’t drive their opinions into your brain like a nail on wood. Are you sure this Sasha and Marcie are your friends?”

A bit taken aback by such a question, Anne merely shrugged. “Well, yeah, of course. I mean, it’s not like they pressured me to do something stupid or whatever...” she added, swallowing a lump in her throat afterward.

“I’ll take your word for it,” he promised, although deep down he was certain that wasn’t the entire truth. But he wouldn’t press the kid. 

Soon the two were exploring the forest. They gathered berries, took pictures on Anne’s phone, and even ran for their lives from some giant predator. Wally never had this much fun before in his life!

When it was time for lunch, the two found a shady area under a tree. Wally was surprised Anne made him a special meal called an ‘omelette’. 

“No one’s ever cooked for me before,” he said as she placed the plate on his lap. “This ain’t pity because I live in squalor, is it?”

“Of course not,” she insisted. “Besides, sometimes friends cook for friends.”

Wally tasted her cooking, and his eyes immediately widened. “Goodness! This tastes better than whatever scraps I can get together and boil it in water!” He took another bite. “You cook for your friends back home too?”

Anne’s smile fell. “Well, not really. My friend’s don’t really trust my cooking abilities. And they don’t even eat Thai food either.”

“Don’t eat your foreign cuisines?” Wally gasped. “That’s rubbish! Why, if it weren’t for your culinary uniqueness, Stumpy’s would have been already closed!”

“Aww, thanks,” she said, touched. 

As they ate, Anne felt a drop on her head. She looked up and noticed that gray clouds were forming. 

“Shoot! It’s raining!” she exclaimed. 

Soon enough the duo were running out of the forest as the pouring began. With the Plantar house much farther than Wally’s, the one-eyed frog allowed her to stay for the night. 

Sitting on a clot laid out just for her, Anne glanced from her phone over at Wally. The older being stood in front of a chipped mirror nailed to the wall, then took off his hat. Anne couldn’t help but be amazed by how gorgeous his hair was. She was surprised he even had hair; she still remembered how surprised she had been when she found out Sprig had hair. 

Whistling a merry tune to himself, Wally began to comb his nightly blue locks. In some way, Anne had to admit that for a frog with one eye closed, he looked pretty handsome. 

“I really hope Sprig and the Plantars don’t freak out that I’m gone,” Anne said as Wally laid his cot next to hers.  _______

Meanwhile, back at the Plantar residence, Hop Pop had to carry a wet, muddy Sprig back inside the house. The kid had been practically terrorizing all of Wartwood trying to find Anne. “Dang it, Sprig!” the old frog sighed as he put him down. “I’m just as worried about Anne, but you didn’t have to tear the whole valley inside out!” 

Sprig wiped the mud off his face. “How could Anne just go without me? Do I mean nothing to her?”

“Cling-yyyyyy...” Polly sang.  _______

“I’m sure they won’t get too upset that you’re gone for one night,” Wally assured. “Although I wonder how your family from wherever you came from must be feeling right now.”

It took a moment for Anne to realize he was referring to her actual home. “Oh, yeah, I hope my parents are doing okay. It’s been more than a month. Can’t imagine the trouble they’re going through just to find out where I’ve gone off.”

“Hey, I’d be fretting too if you were my kid,” Wally remarked. “Probably tear the whole valley inside out just to find you.”

Anne couldn’t help but blush at that. The more she gotten to know the oddball frog, the more she realized just how golden his heart was. 

“What about your parents?” she asked. “I remember, in the song, you promised your dad you would find the person who killed him or something and defeat with, I think, the sound of music or something?”

“Oy, you were actually listening?” Wally exclaimed in astonishment. 

“Yeah,” Anne said, giving him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry about your dad. I can see just how important this accordion is to you.” She glanced over at said instrument, remembering how those toad warriors nearly took it away from him for good that day. 

“Oh, thanks, love,” he responded, touched. “Yeah, my parents were decent people. I admit our living situation was no better than this, put still, we pulled through. Lost my mum when I was no older than you. My dad, during my late teens. You know, if they were around today, he would have liked you. Even though you’re a human.”

“And I guess my parents would have definitely liked you too,” Anne said. “Even though you’re a talking frog.” 

Both laughed before calming down. 

“You now, Wally, after that adventure we had looking for the moss man...” she began carefully, looking at her phone, sliding through pictures of her life back home. “I can’t help but think about what you said. About being in a new place, meeting new people, being the person you want to be without letting judgment control you.” She lowered her phone. “That was really good advice, you know.”

“I got to admit that Wartwood has become something interesting since you arrived,” the one-eyed frog replied. “Can’t imagine what this place will be like once you leave.”

As soon as he said that, Anne’s heart felt heavy. All month she had been thinking about home, back to her old life and with humanity itself. But as she adjusted here, she could barely remember what she was even living at all back in her world. 

Here in this valley, she gotten to experience a whole new culture, meet new faces, and even admit that she loved the bug-based dishes. Not to mention just how colorful this world was compared to the dreary, grayish town she grew up in back home. 

She couldn’t imagine what her life will be once she left Wartwood. 

“Thing is, Wally,” she sighed. “That’s the issue I’ve been dealing with. Like...part of me doesn’t want to leave.”

The adult frog looked over her in surprise. 

“I mean, I do miss home, but this place has been like home! And I don’t want to leave Sprig, the Planters, Wartwood, especially you, Wally!”

“Well, that makes me want to tear up just a bit,” he expressed, although calmly. 

“I mean, look how much we’ve bonded in just two days,” Anne added. “I don’t want to leave that. Any of this. Sure, you guys were a bunch of jerks in the beginning, but look what we’ve all been through together. I’m not afraid to admit that you guys really mean a lot to me. And it kills me inside every time I think about the day I’ll have to leave.” 

Although Anne was breaking inside, she forced herself not to tear up. Wally sensed this and placed a hand on her shoulder. 

“Oh, Anne, I appreciate you feel that way about us,” he said gently. “And no doubt we’ll all be sad the day you go.” Then he gave her a warm smile. “But hey, if you managed to come here...who says you can’t come here again?”

She stared at him. “You really think that’s possible, Wally?”

“Well, why not?” he chuckled. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll be able to have the best of both worlds! Then that way we’ll always be together!”

Anne couldn’t help but smile at the thought. For as long as she had been in Wartwood, there were so many things she wanted to share about her world. Maybe if what Wally said was right, she could completely change this place for the better, make it more innovated with her 21st century knowledge. 

“The best of both worlds sounds amazing,” she said with a yawn. 

Wally watched as her eyes slowly closed, laying onto her cot. The phone slid out of her grasp right next to her waist.

He chuckled softly as he draped a blanket over her. 

“Nice kid,” he sighed before going to sleep himself.  ------------

So what do you think?  I hope for more episodes featuring Anne and Wally! 

[spongeguyandlelouchvibridankia]

The Wrecker: An Amphibia Prequel Fanfic: Chapter 1: The Crossroads

…

 Darkness.

 Crickets chirped…

 Birds tweeted…

 Leaves crunched under his feet.

(First 59 seconds of “Hey Mando!” – Ludwig Goransson)

 The daylight sun was barely up as the hooded soldier trudged through the forest floor, his footsteps quiet enough not to alert more beasts, but loud enough to make an impact. The muddy path was imprinted by his black laced leather boots, and the leaves of trees were cut down instantly by his sharp sword of steel, which glimmered and shined in the approaching dawn, near blinding in its light.

 He covered his eyes, for a moment, the scars surrounding his face now illuminated. Red, sharp lines that stretched all around his eyes and chin, telling of stories he’d rather not share. His hands were a different story: They were covered in blood.

 And not just blood from the Herons he had had to tackle before, an unfortunate part of his morning routine.

 If he resided at Toad Tower, he’d have a warm bed and a hot meal, and the herons and tomato plants and Nightmare Trees would leave him be.

 But his nights… Would still be restless.

 Closing his eyes for a moment, leaning on a tree he didn’t have to kill, he could still hear the screams of that last heron he had to strike down.

 They were just like the screams from yesterday.

 He sighed, a pain in his chest. 60 years old and still running… Somehow.

 How that business in Swamp Port hadn’t killed him he still couldn’t tell you.

 But the screams… They didn’t leave. They hurt way more than all the wounds he had ever been dealt, and he been dealt a lot over his 30 years of service.

 He was used to tangling with criminals, with ruffians, with mercenaries…

 Freedom fighters though… Were an unwelcome new development.

 Ever since Toad Tower had doubled down on its control of Amphibia, the plebs had been responding badly. Especially those from Marsh Pond, the main supplier of silk to the Toads. Once the relationship had been purely diplomatic and peaceful, but something in their nature had caused a need to fight back.

 As the keepers of the peace, they were sent to stop an impending war.

 He could still feel it.

 They normally took prisoners. Even with the recent more “aggressive” tactics deployed by the soldiers, they normally left enemies of the state to rot in prisons.

 But he had, for the first time, panicked.

 He had for the first time chosen the path oft followed, and he had killed a fellow frog.

 But…

 Was that the first time he had chosen that?

 The blood still didn’t wipe as his leaf crunching began to sound more familiar, and the trees took the shape of a sunny, seemingly serene path. The sounds of orders being given, of soldiers marching and of swords striking echoed down to where he stood, large and imposing, broad shoulders drooping and round, orange face filled with thought.

 Thought of the terrible things he had done.

 Thought of all the things he had killed.

 Thought of what once was…

 He turned around, for a moment, looking back.

 Home was back there. Home, in the farm, where his family once proudly stood. Home, with the lush green ivy and the sunny days and the smell of fly pancakes sizzling on the griddle, and the cool of the lake and the satisfaction of a hard day’s work.

 Home…

 But he didn’t belong there.

 He had rightfully been removed from there…

 To where he truly belonged.

 On the one hand, he wished he could take it back. He wished he could bring back the poor frog he had killed.

 But he knew it was too late. For him… There was no other way.

 No one else wanted him…

 And this was the only thing he was good at.

 Taking a small breath, his eyes still getting used to the bright rays of the sun, he failed once more to wipe the blood off…

 He turned around, black cape swirling, a dark shadow falling over him.

 And with that, he walked towards Toad Tower on the road he could not stray from, knowing he could only get worse… So at least he’d just get it over and done with.

 Who knew?

 Maybe today would be the one where Frog would take mercy on his soul and have the enemy strike him down once and for all.

 Maybe today…

 He would rest.

        “Atten….Hut!”, a commanding and direct, yet not rough voice rose through the air.

 (“National Anthem of Roman Empire” – National Anthems of The World)

 Dozens of swords rose up in salute as a large green toad, with shining golden armor and an honorable velvet cape marched down the pristine halls of Toad Tower.

 Said halls were quite a spectacle to behold: Full of bountiful treasures, like the Dread Pirate Mog’s Chest of the Deep, and the mythical water producing sands of The Red Spotted Desert, full of glorious works of art, lavish portraits and marble statues of captains of the past, full of amethysts and emeralds and sapphires that sparkled even at darkest night.

 Cashmere carpets and curtains of gold filled the floors and walls, and a beautiful ceramic mosaic of the entire Captain blood line enriched the ceiling with a feeling of purpose: This was a legacy to be observed with great care.

 But the soldiers of Toad Tower, all different shapes and sizes of the same kind of crony, were too busy fixing their eyes on the most important man in any room he’s in, but one, now standing on a small humble wooden footstool in the middle of the great hall: The illustrious, the bold, the magnificent, the all powerful and all caring father to his men:

 “Lieutenant Grime, SIR!”, the men called out in salute.

 A sense of pride burning in his chest, and a warm smile spreading across his face, Lieutenant Grime motioned with his palm for the men to relax.

 “Thank you, company. But I am here not to order, but to confirm your well being.”

 Stepping down from the stool, Grime observed the men with the eyes of a concerned leader.

 “Yesterday’s battle was a hard one, indeed. We nearly lost some brave toads, and we even found ourselves going farther than we are used to.”, Grime reminded solemnly.

 A rather courageous, yet prone to violent outbursts soldier answered proudly.

 “We all reported to the medical chambers, Sir! We are in prim and proper condition!”, the soldier, Bog by name, said.

 Grime smiled and shook his head, humorously, illiciting a few hearty chuckles from his men. “Fit as a fiddle, perhaps, but the mind is a slightly more complicated instrument, my dear Bog.”

 Bog piped down, feeling a little sheepish. He did not like being shown for a fool in front of the others. He was a warrior first and foremost, and he liked the aura of power it gave him.

 Grime walked among his men, looking them in the eye to see if he could detect anything.

 “Our mental health is crucial for our survival: A man whose battle is not with his enemy, but with himself, is a man who cannot move forwards. You cannot march on to victory if your feet are chained with doubt and guilt.”, Grime informed, softly and surely.

 The men tried to heed his wise words, and they continued to listen carefully as Grime continued his monologue.

 “I know that some of you think that what we did yesterday was a step too far: A step backwards into the dark times of my grandfather, Captain Mire.”

 Grime took a moment to pause, a fraction of conflict showing upon his normally cheery eyes: The mark of his grandfather’s crimes against frog and toad kind was a weight he still carried.

 But he was not to despair. His men would follow in his lead.

 He turned back, and observed the soldiers with determined inspiration.

 “My men… There are times where we face a crossroads, and times where our actions lose their black and white coating. This war is a complicated one, one where our enemies are our friends.”, Grime said.

 He looked up to the sky, up with hope, as his eyes gleamed with belief. “But we must persevere! We must do what is right, even when skies are grey… And misty…”

 He smiled, as he repeated an oft repeated line, the motto of his species: “We are…”

 “The line…”, a deeper, much more commanding voice sounded down the halls, and everyone, even Lieutenant Grime, kneeled in respect, as the one they all followed and served walked in.

 He was taller than even Grime, his armor was somehow more golden, and his scar ridden face was complimented with a steely look, one that could shake the skies and part the oceans; His hands had turned the tides of war many times, and his eyes told a story of power…

 And of prophecy.

 “Captain Muck, SIR!”, the soldiers saluted, Grime included.

 All the toads continued to kneel, as Captain Muck, leader of the Toad Army, and by that, leader of all of Amphiba, marched down towards Lieutenant Grime and offered his hand.

 Grime humbly took it, standing up, but not too much as to not appear in charge.

 “A most eloquent speech as usual, son.”, Muck complimented, an ancient smile on his face.

 Grime proudly accepted it, nodding. “The honor is all mine, father.”

 He added, in a slightly longing tone, “It has been many moons since we last saw you here at Toad Tower.”

 Muck patted his son’s shoulder blade, agreeing with his progeny. “Yes, son, it has been too long.”

 He then greeted the still kneeling army with the voice of a jubilant general, raising their spirits in an instant. “It has been TOO long since I last had the honor of seeing my loyal subjects, whose successes greet children at night and fill the mugs of lonely toads at the inns!”

 The toads cheered, standing up and applauding their great and powerful leader.

 His golden cape swirling, Muck turned to Grime and inquired of recent events.

 “Tell me, how did yesterday’s skirmish befall? Have the terrorists been disposed of?”

 Grime shook his head, albeit not for the reasons Muck expected. “Not quite, father. And I must add, that I wouldn’t go so far as to label them terrorists, more misguided allies.”

 “Now, I wouldn’t go so far myself, son! Allies or not, the once faithful citizens of Marsh Pond have turned on their protectors.”, Muck replied, taking on an amused tone

 “Turned, true, but not for empty reasons: They seem to think that our efforts to protect them are from a dictatorial standpoint.”, Grime retorted, thoughtfully.

 Muck scratched his chin, seemingly puzzled. “How on Amphibia can one interpret our generosity as malice amazes me to no end. It is as if a son would turn on his father, after years of diligent care.”

 Grime had to agree. “You always know just what to say, father.”

 Muck winked, and continued his assessment. “Now, misguided or not, did they lose?”

 Grime nodded curtly. “I would say. They even…”

 Grime struggled with this. Not one frog had died in almost 3 generations of Toad rule. He knew it was a mistake, and he knew it was a consequence of his good intentions, but it was a shadow on his, no… On their legacy.

 He stammered, a rarity, before delivering the truth. “They had lost one of their own. By accident, mind you. But frog blood spilled on Amphiba yesterday, and we are to blame.”

 “To blame? Son, you have an odd perception of justice.”

 Grime was, for the first time, truly surprised, and he showed it with his widening eyes. “Justice? A frog died!”

 “A terrorist frog, son. And one who would have been a repeat offender. Whisperings of this event have stretched across Amphiba, even to my very doorstep.”, Muck informed.

 “So that was why he had come”, Grime thought, feeling a pang of sadness, but it soon passed.

 Muck reached out his arms in welcome. “Times are changing: Our codes must adapt to such things. If criminals must die to set an example, then we will teach the next generation, as we have done before.”, he said.

 He looked back at Grime, making a point. “As you yourself said, regardless of the grey and misty skies, we MUST do the right thing.”

 Muck then extended his sword and sent the tip to the floor, causing an echoing sound. “We ARE the line!”

 “WE ARE THE LINE!”, the soldiers, even Grime, chanted.

 “Well then…”, Muck began, turning once more to his son. “Who is the hero we must laud? Who is the brave soul who has given Amphibia a chance to sleep at night? Who is my champion?”

 Muck pointed at Grime, causing Grime to feel uneasy. “Was it you, my son?”

 Grime hated it, but he had to disappoint his father, though secretly he was glad he didn’t have to carry the burden of murder. “No, father… But I do know who it was. I led the operation, after all.”

 “Well then? Who was it?”, Muck asked.

 The doors suddenly opened, causing a deafening sound, one which made Muck and Grime stare at the arrival of their most trusted soldier.

 “Look…”, one toad soldier whispered. “It’s The Wrecker…”

 (“The Mandalorian Main Theme” – Ludwig Goransson)

 This sent a hush across the crowd, and as The Wrecker, soul still heavy, but mind made up of his fate, his fate to be nothing but the villain of his own story, walked towards Muck to salute him, stunned whisperings and awed gasps rained down the halls as the soldiers made way for him.

 “The Wrecker…”

 “The greatest Toad soldier not of the bloodline…”

 “I heard he once took on 30 mercenaries with one hand!”

 “I heard he’s never lost the beetle race at the Bizarre Bazaar!”

 “I heard that he eats herons for light snacks!”

 The Wrecker tried to ignore his “accomplishments”, his heart getting harder by the minute.

 He was as much of a monster as the herons outside…

 He wished he could learn to live with it.

 “Ah! The Wrecker!”, Muck greeted with loud approval, walking down towards his trusted muscle.

 His armor jingled as he put a proud hand on The Wrecker’s shoulder, and he inadvertently sent a shiver down the warrior’s spine.

 “Fashionably late as ever, but after 30 years of immense service, can I really ask for more?”, Muck complimented, grinning.

 The Wrecker said nothing, as this was customary of him. He rarely addressed anyone, mostly because the sound of his own voice reminded him of a different time.

 No matter how hard he tried to change it, that small sound of home stayed.

 He couldn’t kill his past.

 Muck didn’t notice any of that, choosing to continue to lavish praise. “I see that you have done what no frog or toad has done in years: You have killed an enemy of your country. I am insurmountably proud!”

 He then motioned towards Grime, who quickly joined. “I feel as if now is finally the time you accept your long overdue reward of becoming a co-Lieutenant!”

 Grime proudly beamed. “I would be MORE than happy to share the post with you, my friend!”

 And it was true: Grime was not only happy, he was his friend. Perhaps his only one.

 But The Wrecker said nothing.

 And Muck understood.

 “Well, I think you’ve earned the right to refuse that. You are a good soldier, with or without medals. But a banquet tonight at toad hall, at the very least?”, Muck offered, a voice full of hopeful anticipation.

 The Wrecker aquiesced. There was no reason to create a fuss. They could celebrate; He would just try to forget he wasn’t lying cold on the wet grass of an abandoned battlefield.

 Muck laughed heartily as he announced the upcoming banquet, which sent the whole hall cheering, and as they finished, Muck announced another important thing.

 “Well, the time for frivolaties is over! We must take action once more!”

 He lifted his sword in command, and everyone followed. “Marsh Pond must be taught its lesson before its disease of the mind spreads! The line must be restored to proper balance! Go out today and teach them this lesson! And if you must, kill the ones endangering our safety!”

 Looking at The Wrecker, Muck smiled, almost evilly now. “What say you, Wrecker?”

 The Wrecker sighed. He would only be going deeper…

 But he had no home to go back to.

 All he had…

 Was the end of the road.

 If he really was to be a villain…

 If there really was no honor for him…

 Then he would finish his job.

 Straightening up and clenching his fists, The Wrecker said:

 “…When do we start?”

 THE WRECKER

 CHAPTER 1: THE CROSSROADS

            (“Isolation” by Brian Taylor – Iron Man 3 plays)

 The carriage shuddered and rattled as it made its way down the long, crooked and winding road towards Marsh Pond. The pebbles on the path kept interfering with the wheels, causing much bumping on the ride.

 While outside the sun shone brightly, and the crickets and butterflies played with the dandelions, inside the carriage was a very different atmosphere.

 These were fighters, warriors, and soldiers, on a mission to defend their homeland. There was no more serious mission.

 In fact, this was the first tax day check the toads had had to make in a long time, and tensions were high after yesterday’s battle.

 The soldiers tried to distract themselves from the past and future events, however, by keeping themselves busy; Idle minds were often potent for traumatic memories.

 So inside their dreary and dark camouflage green and oak tree brown carriage, they wasted time to forget that their time was short lived, and that their days were numbered.

 Some were participating in a spirited spitting contest using Private Berry’s helmet (his mum had given it to him, apparently, which only reinforced their decision to use it). The riccothests echoed across the carriage, disturbing the few who chose to sleep.

 “Quiet down there, ya fuckin’ morons!”, one shouted out, throwing his spear at a fellow toad who just managed to duck, causing the others to laugh jovially.

 Such moments of levity were few and far between, so when they presented themselves the men would jump to the occasion.

 Besides spitting and sleeping, writing letters home was another popular activity.

 One Pugs by name was doing just that, writing home to her parents back in Toad country.

 Her quill was fast and efficient, since any toad soldier worth their weight knew that an outside attack could happen at any minute.

 If you wanted to settle affairs, you had to make it snappy.

 “We’re off now to Marsh Pond. I believe you once mentioned it in one of your bedtime stories, papa. Is it…”

 She stopped, choking for a moment.

 She then resumed, but the parchment was a tad damper than she had intended. “…Is it as wonderful as you said it was? If so… I’m sorry. We may have to burn that place down. I hope I haven’t disappointed you or mama.”

 While this letter was being written, the last activity remaining was being practiced by Lieutenant Grime and The Wrecker in their lonely corner of the carriage, barely illuminated, shadows casting over their armor and faces.

 Grime seemed in a melancholic mood, contributed to by his Father’s seeming ignorance of him (a selfish motivation that illicited shame in Grime) and a general guilt over the death of the so called “Terrorist”.

 Sharpening his dagger with another, Grime seemed fully focused on the task, as if perhaps it could distract his troubled soul.

 And The Wrecker did the same with his sword, albeit less distracted.

 Such was the soul of this warrior, he just…

 He just couldn’t ignore.

 He had killed a frog…

 And he couldn’t even truly state self defense.

 He had panicked, and he had failed. Again.

 Failure.

 If The Wrecker had a single consistent motif in the symphony of his life, it would be titled “Failure”.

 He was nothing but that.

 He had failed his family…

 His town…

 His father…

 His people…

 And even himself.

 He had tried his luck at farming, the arts, merchant work, and even begging, and it got him nowhere.

 Every time he tried something, he fell flat on his face, reminded once more of his uselessness.

 At everything…

 Everything but fighting.

 For some odd reason, he was adept at surviving, at persevering in a fight.

 It was some sort of innate instinct of his.

 The will to survive, despite the fact that he was clearly unwanted, even by himself.

 This will, however, was slowly being eroded away by the waves of guilt that washed over him.

 “I’m no good at anything but destruction. I am nothing more than a blunt tool.”, he lamented as he sharpened his sword.

 He sharpened harder, causing sizzles to fly.

 “Might as well put my back into it. If I’m going to die, I’m going to die at least getting one thing right.”

 Meanwhile, Pugs continued to write her letter, and The Wrecker overheard her pleas of forgiveness to her parents.

 Coupled with the rattle and shake of the carriage and the sharply contrasting blue sky he could see from the lone window, The Wrecker found himself thinking back to a different time…

 When he was a different person…

 “Dear Mum and Dad…”, a 20 year old Wrecker dictated, sticking the quill in his mouth and recoiling from the taste.

 “Yech! Anyhow, I’m on the carriage to college, and I have never been more excited!”

 He wasn’t exaggerating; he had spent the entire trip looking out the window in excitement, gawking at the sights and sounds, amazed at the different kinds of snails and frogs he was seeing, alongside the marvelous skies out there.

 “I’ve only seen such blue skies in my dreams…”, he muttered to himself, tapping his chin in thought on what to write.

 He soon came up with another idea, and wrote it down quickly. “How are things at the farm? I hope the corn is growing better than last time I handled it!”, he added, smiling, but the smile was oddly unnatural on his youthful face.

 He soon found himself staring at the piece of paper, knowing he had to say something deeply hidden inside.

 Looking from side to side, he added with shaking, guilty fingers “I’m so sorry that I brought shame on our name. I…”

 A tear fell on the bench next to him. He wiped it quickly, not wanting anyone else to be affected by it.

 “I… I’m sorry. But I promise: This is the last time I’ve failed! I will bring honor to our family and town, and I will prove that… That keeping this pollywog was the best decision you made!”

 Feeling a sense of pride burst in his chest, he finished with a determined grin. “Looking forward to making you proud! Sincerely…”

 He stuttered, wishing he could justify the title. “…Your son.”

 Sitting back, he took the parchment and stuck it in his ready made envelope, scribbling the address carefully.

 “Seriously? A letter to your parents? What are you, 5?”, the taller turqouize frog next to him, who was busy whistling a merry tune, suddenly interjected.

 Wrecker turned to him in objection, annoyed by the incessant whistling. “Gosh, Mellow, why you gotta be such a wet towel?”

 Mellow responded with a flick to the ear. “Why you gotta be such a baby? Blue skies and weepy family letters? Grasshopper pie much?”

 He sneered and removed a lettuce leaf from his teeth with his fingers, causing Wrecker to cringe. “It’s like, dude! You and I both know what happened back there.”

 Mellow suddenly took on a sadder tone, and he eyed his carriage mate with a sympathetic look. “…Why are you lying to yourself? No one has ever given you a chance. I wonder if even you do.”

 Wrecker took a deep breath and looked out of the carriage, still seeing blue skies. “Well… My first chapter was not bright… But that’s what re-writes are for! This is a new page for me! I… I just know it!”

 “…And I ended up flunking out. I couldn’t even succeed in the one elective I got right.”

 Wrecker sighed, a cold shiver down his spine.

 When was he finally going to accept that there was no other way?

 This was the only thing he was good at…

 Whatever he once was… Whatever he could have been…

 It was gone, lost forever in the winds of the past.

 He wasn’t who he once was.

 He was The Wrecker.

 And that would never change.

 His last sharpening of his sword was particularly loud though, and it caused Grime to observe his comrade with slight concern.

 The two never really talked (well, Wrecker never really talked that is), but Grime had learned over the years they had spent as fellow soldiers when he was in a stormy mood.

 He may have only been 20, but he was wise beyond his years. He could tell when guilt was steering a man’s ship.

 “…I’m worried about today too.”

 Wrecker said nothing. He just tried to focus on his sword.

 “…Father seems… Very pre-occupied of late.”

 Again, Wrecker said nothing, though he was used to Grime expressing his insecurities about his father. Grime had no one else to tell, which made Wrecker even guiltier: What could he do to help him when he was himself?

 “…Sorry, I’m venting again. I just… I hope I’ll make him proud today.”

 Wrecker nodded and silence reigned again.

 But Grime had another thing to address.

 “…I know yesterday was difficult, but you did a good thing in the end. Father wouldn’t have said so if it wasn’t.”

 Wrecker now REALLY wanted to ignore, and his sharpening got louder and harder, sparks literally flying.

 “I mean it. You… You saved us from those Terr… From those frogs! They wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you! I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you! You… You are a hero to us all, Wrecker!”

 Gritting his teeth, Wrecker stood up and looked at Grime with a mixture of guilt, pain, hatred and resignation. “You’re wrong.”, he stated, with finality, and he began to step away as the carriage dragged to a halt.

 Grime was surprised by this, and feeling that he had to make Wrecker understand that he was one of the best… No, the BEST of them all!

 Standing up, he grabbed Wrecker by the shoulder pad, turning him to him, startling him for a moment.

 “Wrecker… You made sure no one died!”

 Wrecker pulled himself away, fury and anguish in his dark eyes.

 “…He did.”

 The doors slammed wide open, and shoving all the others aside, The Wrecker stepped out onto the outskirts of Marsh Pond, the all too familiar scent of corn, sunflowers and hay hitting him in the face and sending him back.

 In response, he shoved his sword violently into a dog sized maggot and wiping the blood on his cloak, giving himself an extra imposing look, The Wrecker forebodingly walked towards the peaceful for now farmlands, eyes narrowed, heart clenched.

 The rest of the men followed, tense and prepared for anything. Death was in the air…

 War was coming to Marsh Pond.

         (“The Scavenger” by John Williams – Star Wars: The Force Awakens)

 “Ok, Xena! I’m ready!”

 Standing in a wide field of about 20 rows of green silk plants, ready to be harvested once more thanks to the winterless skies of Amphibia, the ultramarine/perriwinkle webbed feet of 20 year old Annie Lilypad curled up in anticipation, her massive hitting branch at the ready, her eyes showcasing excited confidence.

 Annie was standing on the southernmost side of the field, mere meters away from the farm she had spent all her life in wishing she was anywhere but there.

 Not that her childhood had been some sort of nightmare, mind you, but Annie was the sort of frog with her head in the clouds. For Annie, life was most fun when she got to truly express the mess of interests in her mind out in the open!

 And today was a good day to be herself!

 “Serving up!”, called out Xena, a buff and athletic artichoke green frog, whose short stature didn’t affect her strength one fold. Using her well toned arm, Xena hurled a massive dead fly towards Annie, a fly so big it would have freaked out any ordinary frog.

 But Annie Lilypad was NO ordinary frog.

 Narrowing her eyes and smirking confidently, Annie took a few steps forwards, readied her branch, and with a mighty guttural roar of power, unleashed her whack.

 “BACKHAND!”, She screamed, and the fly was sent hurtling back in tremendous speed, Xena barely ducking as it hit the granite wall with a humongous splat, coating the wall (and XENA) with fly guts and ick.

 Blood was also coating the stone barrier, but it was nothing compared to the other splats of fly body parts spread around the wall. And with the work done, one could see that the seemingly benign and needlessly violent endeavor had a purpose: A crude spelling out of ANNIE WUZ HERE was now being appreciated by Annie, Xena, and the now arriving Shirley, a tall and lanky magenta frog who whistled in approval.

 “Realizing your identity through the mediums of art and murder by stamping yourself onto the shackles that hold us down! Deep, man…”, Shirley nodded, feeling the art by closing her eyes and breathing it in.

 “I see you used carcasses. Tres chic! Gives a very REAL and RAW feeling to the work!”, she complimented, patting Annie’s back, who closed her eyes in pride.

 “Well, what can I say? Some girls paint, some girls fight, I just ROCK!”, Annie boasted, and she flexed her arms as Shirley and Xena applauded.

 “Too bad this is the closest we’ll ever get to self realization.”, Xena commented, shoulders drooping, and the other girls nodded sadly, well aware of their predicament.

 Marsh Pond was Amphibia’s number one silk farm (using both silk worms and artificial manufactured silk to meet the suffocating demand), and its center of the arts and sports. It was a cultural mecca to frogs and toads of all ages, artists to athletes to merchants, and since tourism and trade were the majority of economic influx to the village, ESPECIALLY thanks to the crippling Toad Tower taxation, Marsh Pond was on a constant schedule of 24/7/365 work.

 This meant a few things: It meant that farmers, artists, sportsmen and tour guides had to work their asses off. It meant that a silk harvest that died out or was stolen would potentially send a family into the streets, if not into the grave.

 And it meant that no one could ever leave Marsh Pond.

 Which was great, if you wanted to be a silk farmer, or an artist, or a road travelling merchant, or a beloved boxing champion.

 But it meant the end of the road before it had even begun for some frogs.

 Like Xena, who had always wanted to set her own wrestling show and travel from town to town, entertaining the masses.

 Or Shirley, who wanted to paint more than fields of silk and dusty old farmers, who wanted to paint the setting of the sun on Mount Rebirth and the starry skies that hovered over the near impossible to find salamander cities that touched the clouds.

 Or Annie… Who wanted nothing more than to see it all.

 But alas, these three frog lasses had nothing more to look forward to, other than decades of farming the same land over and over until they became part of it, nothing else but moving fertilizer, destined to be snail grazing.

 Annie sighed as she sat on the porch of her farm house, her friends standing idly by, knowing there was no hope.

 “If only…”

 It echoed and echoed in their minds, the enveloping emptiness of the concept wringing out any happiness they had left. There was nothing to do, nothing that could be done. And so, they just stood there, feeling empty and lost in a sea of dead possibilities.

 Well, Annie sat, but you get the picture.

 Sighing, Xena and Shirley excused themselves, since the job of a farmhand/daughter was never done, and their breaks were surely over. Annie was still waving goodbye to their already departed shadows when her father opened the door and took a deep breath.

 “Another day, another harvest. Come on, Annie! We have to hurry before the Tax Toads arrive!”, Leap Lilypad ordered, and Annie stood up, but her will was clearly not there to be found. Walking inside, Annie began to slap on her overalls and sunhat while Leap looked out into the distance, clearly anticipating something.

 In fact, the liberty tinted frog seemed almost tense, as if he knew of a great and horrible truth connected to the things out there in the outskirts. Looking back, he saw that Annie was still getting ready inside the Spanish Blue farmhouse with a red tiled roof and brown porch. She was wrestling with her overalls in the entrance room/living room, the wooden brown walls failing to elude a feeling of warmth.

 Leap smiled softly, before frowning at the distance again. Stepping carefully, Leap, hands in his pockets and heart in his chest, walked right into the middle of the silk field. The smell of corn, sunflowers and hay hit him in the face and he closed his eyes, enjoying it.

 This could very well be the last time he could ever stand in his garden and just smell the roses. This could very well be his final day.

 Leap felt the ground with his feet, he felt the wind in his hair, and he heard the longing call of the giant silk worms in the distance. The sun shone brightly in the sky, giving a golden aura to the clouds, as if they were reaching out to him. As if Eliza was still reaching out for him.

 Silently, he removed his hat and placed it near his chest, a single tear shedding. He took another deep breath as he looked at the clouds forming a shape that looked like her webbed hand, reaching out for him. Always reaching out. It took all his strength not to reach back, and give it all up.

 “Don’t be a fool…”, he told himself, and he took on an unsure smile. “You’ll… You might be seeing her again. If this works… You’ll be seeing her all right.”

 But Leap did not want to die. He did not want to perish and leave it all, leave his bountiful crops, his fields of peace, his warm fireplace, his…

 “Dad? Are we getting to work or not?”

 Leap startled himself awake, forgetting his daughter entirely. Turning around, he saw her dressed in the most unnatural way: Dressed like him. Her sunhat was tilted, of course, and her overalls were loose and nearly torn, as was to be expected. Her face was glazed, but determined to please, and her hands were holding a sheer with which they would get the crops.

 Leap knew that the Toads would be here soon, and that harvest would not happen. And he also knew that this wasn’t his daughter. And he also knew that Eliza wouldn’t have approved.

 Leap smiled as he gazed upon her, though. Over the decades Leap had grown many wonderful crops of silk, corn, pumpkins and wheat. He had the prizes, scars and tired bones to prove it.

 But of all his creations, none were as beautiful nor magnificent as his daughter who was not one bit like him. And he wouldn’t have changed her for a minute.

 Soon, he would have nothing. Soon, she wouldn’t have to farm for him or anyone. Soon…

 Soon he would meet Eliza again.

 Leap closed his eyes and took one last deep breath, knowing that what he was about to do would not only help others, but would help his daughter escape. And that was worth the most painful death there was. He had signed up for a reason… And he would make sure it was not in vain.

 Placing a hand on her shoulder, Leap struggled not to weep as he said “You know… I need to deal with the tax visitors first. Why don’t you…”, he began, and he took her hat off and unbuttoned her overalls.

 There were a million things he wanted to do, but he opted for only a kiss on her forehead. “Why don’t you go out to city square? Have the day off?”

 Annie was flabbergasted, and she showed it by jumping up and down excitedly. “What what what what?!?!?! You never let me have days off! Won’t we all, like, die out or something?”

 The wind tickled his ears and Leap chuckled and shook his head. “I am a grown man, dear. I can handle this by myself.”

 Annie wanted to leave more than anything. She HATED working in the fields, she LOATHED farming and she DESPISED the decades she was going to waste doing all that over and over and over again. But Annie was kind hearted despite it all, and more than all the previous things, she HATED leaving her father alone to do all the work.

 “Are… Are you sure?”, she asked, rubbing the back of her neck. “Even if it’s just the taxes, I could help with that! Surely you didn’t burn a whole weekend of my life for nothing!”, she joked, but she really did feel uncomfortable, and her sad eyes showed that.

 Leap, however, insisted, and he held her hand in his. “I promise you: Nothing bad will happen.” He narrowed his eyes, as if he had to make sure she believed it no matter what. “NOTHING.”

 Annie, slowly accepting the idea, nodded her head and kissed him on the forehead. “Ok! But I’ll work extra hard tomorrow! I promise!”

 In all the excitement, she hadn’t noticed her father’s frown at the fictional concept of “Tomorrow”.

 Dropping her things, Annie raced out of the gate filled with fly parts and cheered, hoping to get the latest batch of Beetle Jerky while it was still hot. Her cheers could still be heard by Leap as he walked towards his barn, the old frog staring back to where she had left and sighing.

 Holding his hat to his heart, he closed his eyes in a sort of prayer and stated as if it was fact “Nothing bad WILL happen, Annie. I swear. You’re not going to see your mother yet. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

 Wiping a hanging tear, Leap remained rooted to his spot for 5 minutes, before finally rousing the courage to begin the final chapter of his life, turning around and opening the barn door with a resounding and determined thud. The sound echoed across, startling the silk worms, who woke up and mooed almost like cows. Even the oldest and largest one, Kya, roared with surprise when the sound occurred.

 Rushing to her aid immediately, Leap shushed the large worm with soft pats to the head and affectionate whisperings of love. The worm slowly calmed down and nuzzled its head on his, the mucus not bothering Leap for a moment.

 All the other worms soon quieted down, and for a beautiful instant, all was silent in the barn. Leap tried to enjoy it while he could, knowing that the storm was inevitable.

 “Is she gone?”, a voice called out from the darkness, near the edge of the barn, disrupting the peace and causing some of the worms to call out again.

 Leap sighed, knowing his time was up. “She’s safe. And that’s all that matters.”

 Leap walked towards the noise source, still shrouded in darkness, the odd hum of a strange object reaching his ears and sending his heart racing.

 “What’s the matter, Leap? Have you lost faith in our mission?”, the voice asked, concerned this time. It was genuine; this voice and the voices that hadn’t spoken yet besides him were salt of the earth types, believers in their cause and fighters for freedom. And Leap had been one of the biggest voices for independence for years! If he had lost faith…

 “Have no such fear, brothers. I am just…”, Leap began, before clenching his fist and making his mind up. “I’m just thinking of how happy Eliza will be to see me.”

 Leap stepped in and the light revealed 9 other freedom fighters among the bale and hay, stretching their feet and ready for what could be the final day of their lives, though some of them were a tad more confident in their security.

 Tattered rags, rakes, pitchforks and torches waiting to be lit sat patiently among the group, weapons of the oppressed that hardly stood a chance against the Toad’s superior armory and fighting technique. Outdated books on Toad Strategy wasted everyone’s time on a measly wooden desk that was yellowing with age as much as the papers inside said books, a lonely candle wasting wax as well. Sunken and lost faces of rebels stood transfixed in time, awaiting the next move in the chess game of their lives.

 Leap went up to the head of the rebellion, Mog Gravel, and nodded his head slightly.

 “Have you no such fear, Leap.”, Mog encouraged, and he presented their last hope. “We are outnumbered, outmatched and out of time… But we are not out of hope.”

 He smiled, hoping to incite light in the darkness. “No one ever is.”

 Leap wasn’t so sure, but he knew the weapon had potential. He bit his lip and pointed at it, fear in his eyes. “So… Have you found out what it does?”

 Mog shook his head, but his spirit didn’t waver. “No… But we do know one thing: What we have… Could spell the END of Toad Tower…”

 And as the frogs all stared with a mix of fear and hope, the tension thick in the air, the Calamity box did nothing more but hum, it’s gems lighting up the dark barn with not hope, or fear…

 But destiny…

                 “CORN! FRESH, DELICIOUS CORN! CORN THAT’S HOT, HOTTER THAN YOU, I BET!”, a farmer shouted out, rolling his wheelbarrow full of cobs of corn next to his wooden stand that smelled of quality produce and parsley.

 “20 gold coins for THAT measly carrot? Just the one carrot?!”, a frog housewife with brown bangs and a purple purse complained loudly near a different produce stand with older, decidedly less fresh produce, that smelled of rotting potatoes.

 “Ma’am, ‘ave you SEEN the new taxes? I’ve got a family to feed!”, the stand manager said, a bearded fellow whose stomach informed that he had seen better days.

 “And I can’t feed mine if you charge such prices!”, the housewife retorted, and she slammed the stand with her purse, fire in her eyes.

 “Darius is going to win! His odds are high, and he’s got a mean right hook!”, a large, bald frog with squinting eyes debated with his friend at the kiosk, the steam of his black coffee making his eyes squint even more.

 “Eh, you’re full of shit! Alexander may be smaller, but he comes at you from everywhere at once!”, his thinner, nearly spikey haired friend countered, smoke spewing out of his hookah, the kiosk manager handing him a plate with his pretzel.

 “Swamp City ports close tonight at 6 PM. You want to be out of there as soon as possible, otherwise you’ll be stuck there for the weekend, and that’s when The Hive wakes up.”, an elderly merchant informed his first time delivering son.

 “Got it, dad.”, the son said shakily, wary of what could befall him, but desperate to please.

 Life in Marsh Pond was always hustling and bustling, never a moment to rest, and once, that had been it’s reason for success: The draw of the potential riches to be gained, the art to be adored, and the excitement to be had had caused an influx in population.

 But The Toads had changed that, and there was only so much increased demand that one city could contain. Coupled with the disillusionment the new generation had gained the last few years, and the city found itself on a threshold. The farming industry was slowly depending more and more on artificial crops, which were damaging the soil, the athletes association was struggling due to its one city event limit, and less and less frogs picked up a brush, for there were only so many times you could paint the same background.

 There was no other way around it: Marsh Pond was dying.

 And today it would draw its last breath.

 “Oh, no, my ball!”, a young frog girl named Daphne, who was bubble gum pink, exclaimed and she chased it onto the stone paved road, narrowly dodging the merchant’s son.

 “Daphne, come back here! You can’t run into the road!”, Daphne’s mother shouted out in fright and ran after her.

 Daphne bounced off the angry housewife’s head, knocked over by accident the corn wheelbarrow (“Sorry!”) and leapt from the gamblers table at the kiosk to reach it just in time.

 “Yes! I got it!”, she squealed happily, but when she looked up, she saw…

 CLANG!

 The sound of a sword hitting down on the ground was supplied by the Toad soldier now staring right at her with a nasty growl, and she hushed up immediately, whimpering from the look on his face.

 (“Firelord Ozai Theme” – Jeremy Zuckerman and The Track Team)

 Silence immediately took over the other frogs, who stopped all what they were doing to stare at the incoming chaos. The housewife shivered, the merchant’s son gulped quietly, the men at the kiosk sighed wearily, and Daphne’s mom glared with resigned desperation at the toad soldiers in front of her.

 Only the wind howled, causing the armor and terrifying war helmets to clank, their faces never moving.

 The towered over the frogs, their black as night cloaks blowing in the wind, like the wings of flesh eating vultures ready to prey on them all. The bells in the woodshop stand rang ominously, the tension in the air too thick to be cut.

 No one even dared move, as The Toad soldiers let their dominance be known by freezing an entire town with the act of simply appearing.

 Some of them, like Pugs, were already ashamed of their arrival, but the majority were like Bog, nearly grinning from the opportunity presented before them to burn this place to the ground. Their way of life was under siege, and Marsh Pond would know pain if it meant protecting the state.

 Only Grime seemed not to read the situation, too fixated he was on keeping the peace and being The Line. He knew his father had all but approved the use of brute force, especially in finding the “terrorists” who had stabbed Amphibia in the heart, but Grime just couldn’t bring himself to do it, which depressed him completely. How could he ever live up to his father, to his bloodline, if he couldn’t follow his orders? Of course, it was only a suggested course of action, which Grime was more than ready to stake his honor on if it meant that no more bloodshed would be undertaken. Grime knew he was doing something wrong, but he just couldn’t execute more frogs. There HAD to be another way.

 So he would take it. And so he tried to, as he walked up to the front of his men and cleared his throat, ready to address the citizens as to the manner of their arrival. Perhaps he could ease the storm, and steer the ship in the right direction.

 Perhaps he could still be a good leader.

 “Citizens of Marsh Pond!”, Grime’s voice boomed across the market space, all powerful and all reaching, arguably even stronger than Captain Mire. Everyone who was already looking at him focused even more now, and anyone who hadn’t been now had their eyes trained on him and him alone.

 Two other soldiers quickly positioned themselves in guarding positions, their spears pointed right at Daphne and her Mom, who still couldn’t budge, so scared they were that they were rooted to the spot.

 They quivered and whimpered, tears streaking down Daphne’s cheek, but somehow Grime didn’t notice.

 No one did, it seemed, too focused they were.

 No one did…

 But The Wrecker, who took one look at the child and saw someone he hadn’t seen in years…

 Himself.

 Meanwhile, Grime continued his speech, barging on with his well meaning but ineffectual declaration. “We are NOT here as your enemies. We are here as family, a family that is concerned.”

 Wrecker wanted to find a way to help Daphne and her mom move away, but one of the guards freaked out and threatened them with her spear, making the two frogs run off, scrambling away, bruising their knees on the rocky road.

 Wrecker just stood there silently, feeling his heart hurt just a little bit more as Grime continued, his soul beginning to intensely remind him of the past, of who he was, and of who he has become.

 “You mustn’t be afraid…”, Grime soothed, and suddenly Wrecker was 20 years old, and his father was holding his hand as Captain Mire stared into his eyes with a devilish grin, one which sent a shiver down his spine even now. He was crying then, and having his face touched by the toad leader was only making things worse.

 “We aren’t here to hurt you…”, Grime promised, but Wrecker could see Bog already sheathing his sword, and he could also see Mire “caressing” his face and sticking a knife to his face, nearly drawing blood.

 “We’ll make a fine slave of you yet…”, he whispered in his ear, and Wrecker could still hear his own screams echo into the night.

 “We aren’t here to scare your misguided warriors into submission…”, Grime phrased carefully, and Wrecker could see his neighbors being slaughtered as he narrowly ducked a sword that lashed at his head, his heart pounding, his mucus glands working overtime.

 “And we aren’t here to punish you…”, Grime neared finishing, while Wrecker could almost feel the flickering embers of the fire as his village went up in smoke.

 He could still hear the screams.

 They never left.

 Suddenly, as if past and present had collided, Wrecker felt as if he could actually see his younger self turn around and look at him.

 He blinked, confused, puzzled, startled, and every other synonym you could think of. How was this happening? It wasn’t possible!

 But there he was, looking at who he was, and who he could never be was staring right back.

 But it was not an empty stare; far from it. It was full of anger. Of rage. Of…

 Disappointment.

 “You were supposed to be better. Now, you’re going to burn another village. Only this time it WILL be your fault. And you will create more wreckers.”

 The younger version then shook his head, and sadly asked an armor piercing question: “Did you really hate yourself so much… That you chose to be what you hate most of all?”

 And Wrecker could only stare as Grime concluded his speech, the winds only getting stronger, disrupting a previously sunny day as grey clouds filled the air.

 “We are only here to collect your generous donations to the state. Not your state, not my state, but OUR state. For we are ALL Amphibians!”, Grime stated as fact, but the sight of the tremulous frogs, the image of defenseless children and frail old Frogs quivering at the sight of the heavily armed and massive Toads told a very different story. One Grime was all too happy to ignore in his all encompassing desire to be just.

 Finally ready to continue on their mission, Grime stated one last “Thank you for your co-operation” and promptly turned to Bog and Wrecker, the former bursting for the chance to punish those who sought to hurt his comrades, the latter still seeing his younger self look at him with disappointment.

 The other men all began to flank to two sides, used to this arrangement. Some pointed east, spears and swords once more pointed at the terrified townsfolk, and some pointed west, their backs turned to Grime, Bog, and Wrecker, but their nearly robotic flanking most definitely visible.

 The three most senior soldiers in the ranks glanced at each other, an aura of silence for a moment: Grime, the respectable and honorable leader; Bog, the vengeful and enraged master fighter; and Wrecker, the best fighter and the most reluctant, though his resigned nature could still make him useful. The tax day collections were to happen as normal (collect from those who pay, punish those who don’t), with the added instruction to snuff out some intel about the freedom fighters. All 3 men knew very well that a battle, an ambush, an attack, SOMETHING will happen.

 One rathered nothing would, one rathered something would, and one rathered an end to his torment.

 “Well, It’s time to divide forces. Wrecker, are you going on your own or with one of us?”, Grime asked, cordially. He knew that Wrecker was a lone wolf by nature, and he always tried to accommodate for his friend. Besides, he was good enough on his own. He was more than a match for whole squadrons of freedom fighters.

 Wrecker stared silently at the two of them, not sure what to choose for once, but Bog quickly settled it, an arm around his fellow warrior’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Lieutenant! I’ll keep an eye on Amphibia’s best frog killer!”. Wrecker looked down in shame as Bog just grinned.

 Grime narrowed his eyes. He had just about enough of all this acceptance of a crime. He didn’t find Wrecker in contempt for a moment, but he did NOT want another catastrophe here, and even Grime could feel the tensions rising. He HAD to put a stop to this before it was too late, his father’s respect be damned!

 Stepping towards Bog, trying to break it nicely, he suggested “I would hope that kill was a one time thing. Even IF the warriors show up, we are more than capable of bringing them to justice ALIVE.”

 Now, normally Bog would have complied with orders (even if he disagreed with them). At most, he would have grumbled a bit. After all, he was an underling, and he knew that.

 But earlier that day, Bog had FINALLY heard a Toad leader say what he had ALWAYS wanted to hear: That he could protect his brothers and sisters properly! That he could defend his homeland from ANY threat!

 Bog could finally be a proper toad, like in the stories his grandfather used to tell of Captain Mire, and his glorious conquests down south! Bog could finally make HIS family name mean something!

 Bog could finally mean something.

 And not even the son of Captain Muck, with all his pathetic and nausea inducing speeches of peace could take that chance away from him!

 “I’m sorry, Lieutenant, perhaps you didn’t hear: But your father specifically approved of this so called “crime”. Maybe you need to get with the times and man up!”, Bog countered, loudly, almost aggressively, and he puffed up his chest, as if he was calling Grime to fight him.

 Grime was shocked, as was Wrecker, who had never seen such defiance, least of all in a loyal soldier like Bog. It was so surprising Grime actually began to feel a weird fire burn in his head, a rage he didn’t know he had.

 What was this toad doing? Defying HIS commands? Questioning HIS authority, the authority given to him by generations of Toad rule, his frog given birthright to lead HIS people to greatness?

 “What would father think?”, Grime thought, seeing the look of disappointment in the old man’s face. He was no Toad! Why, he was barely a maggot!

 And that made Grime even angrier, his teeth gritting and his face getting redder by the second.

 Grime puffed his chest too and stared Bog right in the eye. “Now, listen here, soldier! I am in command here! We are THE LINE. And we are here to keep the peace, not end it!”

 “We are in mortal danger, and you want us to just sit down and play nice with the enemy?”, Bog retorted, anger rising in his throat too.

 Wrecker didn’t even know what to think anymore, so he stayed silent.

 “The same blood flows in their veins as ours. We will not spill it!”, Grime growled, truly feeling enraged. His aforementioned veins throbbed and his fists clenched painfully, the palm getting nearly cut by the impact.

 “And what are you going to do if I protect us? Kill me?”, Bog checkmated, and Grime realized that for the first time, he was truly at a loss for words. Bog had him trapped: If he threatened to kill him (which felt terrifyingly enticing), he would be a hypocrite. And Bog was beloved among the men; they might just mutiny if he killed such a loyal soldier, and…

 Grime took a deep breath, feeling his horrible red hot anger and recoiling. He…

 He wasn’t like that. He…

 He didn’t kill.

 Grime took another breath and decided that he would have to let this be (for now) and allow Bog to do his thing until he could stop him. He’d need a chance to prove he is right in front of everyone…

 The cogs turned in his head as he deduced that no matter what there would be a skirmish, and if he could lead them when that happens, if he could control the battlefield and show that they wouldn’t have to kill them… Then he would be proven right! And Bog’s insubordience would be easier to deal with!

 Yes… He would do it like that.

 Happy with his plan, Grime backed off and said “Well… Let’s see what happens. Perhaps you will find that not all roads of success are paved with blood.”

 “…Keep telling yourself that.”, Bog sneered, and he walked off, Wrecker joining him in silent anguish.

 As they walked off down the busy streets, the people still practically frozen in place, Annie Lilypad had finally arrived at her destination, but before she could buy a single Beetle Jerky, she was greeted all too sadly by her least favorite sight in the world: Toad soldiers.

 “Not them!”, she thought angrily, and she glared with hate at the two who passed her, Bog and Wrecker.

 “Those guys always take everything from us! And they bully everyone in town any chance they get!”, she thought madly as one soldier pushed an old man hard into a nearby wall.

 Annie wished with all her might that she could do something, as more and more people got shoved and pushed and growled at, but she knew that if she did, she could be thrown into prison at best! After yesterday…

 Who knew how many hours she had left.

 But instead of feeling grateful to be alive, Annie just felt guilty. She stood by the side, thinking what she felt but not acting upon it. What was her value if she let injustice slide?

 “Great, Annie. You really are nothing.”, she mumbled darkly as she walked in the inn, her appetite nearly gone now.

 How could she ever be true to herself if she always stood down when the chance to leap arrived?

           It had been about three whole hours since they had started the visitations, and every house in Marsh Pond was left in near ruins, stripped and bared of its possessions, its residents scarred by the ruthlessness of the Toad Army. Bog and the soldiers, alongside a regretful Wrecker, had managed to ransack and desecrate home after home with zero challenge, the defenseless frogs receiving the justice they deserve for betraying their comrades.

 It was a monotonous cycle; The soldiers would walk in and make sure that none of the frogs would commit a heinous and cowardly attack on them, Bog and Wrecker would crowd control with Wrecker restraining the heads of the treacherous families and Bog rightfully punishing the tax evaders for failing to pay the reasonably high fees by removing any and all precious items from their houses as compensation.

 “We tried to pay… We really did! I sold all my silk worms, my wife works morning, noon, and night shifts at the hospital, and my children are starving! You must consider our situation, we wanted to, we really did…”, one maroon frog said, but it was a poor excuse in the eyes of Bog, who tightened his choke on the criminal’s throat, the wall getting more and more cracked by the effort.

 “Not good enough. I wanted to stay at home and not have to teach you to work harder, but I guess we don’t always get what we want…”, Bog replied, grinning wildly as he began pounding the frog in the stomach hard, the hurt man’s children and wife gasping as he choked for air, his insides shivering as Bog stared down at him and spat.

 “Wrecker, give him a good kick. Like you gave that outlaw in Swamp City that one time…”, Bog ordered, and Wrecker sadly stepped up to do so, causing the frog to heave heavily and cough violently.

 The same thing happened to the baker in town square when he was on the other side. When he was someone else.

 The frog gave all he had, but he didn’t give any intel on the “terrorists”, a worrying trend that continued in every other house they visited.

 They saw broken jaws, they saw shattered teeth, they saw black eyes and twisted elbows and bleeding chests, but they didn’t see a sliver of information on the whereabouts of these so called “honorable warriors” that stood up for Marsh Pond and its now crippled folk.

 “So you don’t just refuse to support your protectors, you actively band against them?!”, Bog screamed as he and a few other men lifted a barely composed woman, who was close to a concussion by now, so bruised and beaten she was.

 “I… I swear I know nothing… I swear on Frog’s name…”, she pleaded, but her prayers fell on deaf ears as she fell right through her own table, Wrecker watching from the sidelines, his sword stopping the woman’s wife from rushing to her aide.

 “Swear to Toad Tower!”, Bog declared with rage, and he shook off the impure blood from his fingers as the woman lost sight in one eye for the rest of her meaningless life.

 “All the houses look like they did back… Back in my village.”, Wrecker noted, as the wife screamed for him to let her tend to her love.

 Wrecker laid his eyes on the sobbing mess before him, tears dripping on his sword as he sadly realized that all the people looked the same too.

 In fact, this woman looked a lot like a woman he once knew…

 A woman he once…

 Wrecker barely swallowed the weight in his throat as he robotically followed the order given and threw the woman at her wife to “lie together in the filth”.

 As the righting of wrongs continued, as more and more souls were pierced by his actions, Wrecker tried to somehow reason it all, as Bog broke the nose of yet another thief of the state.

 Sure, every one of these sights disgusted him, but it was nothing new! He had been in countless battles, in countless prisoner orientations, in countless Tax Day checks. He had fought in skirmishes big and small, he had broken arms and legs and shoulders and ribcages, he had protected his homeland!

 But…

 But had he really?

 Were these his people? Were these his opinions? Was this his true self?

 Wrecker had never wanted to go down this road, this path. He had wanted to be anything else, but so lost he was on his journey, he found himself too late on the wrong trail. But was it too late?

 Wrecker thought so. He thought so greatly.

 He tried to avert his eyes as the frog retched out blood, but he couldn’t. This might as well be him making that poor man lie in a pool of his own blood, for crimes he couldn’t help but commit. It was him who was taking these people’s belongings, him who was starving these dying kids, him who was looking for war criminals who didn’t commit a single wrong.

 He was in the wrong. He was the sin, the sinner, and somehow the executioner.

 He could still hear the screams of the frog he killed.

 He could still hear his own screams.

 And now he could hear a third scream, the scream of an orange tinted frog boy, around the same age as he was that night, shaking his father awake and bursting into ugly tears.

 “You… He didn’t do anything! My uncle (ah, so not his father) is innocent, you… You monster!”, the young man called out, suddenly leaping at Bog and punching him in the face, causing all the soldiers and even Wrecker to gasp in shock.

 Bog recovered enough from his surprise to growl at the boy, his imposing figure causing the young man to cry and shake, a mess on the floor.

 And as all this happened, Wrecker looked at the boy and saw someone he hadn’t seen in years: He saw himself.

 He too had leapt for his father’s (well, the boy leapt for his uncle but still) defense that night. And he had nearly died. He too had challenged the beasts who feasted on his village… And for that he was nearly enslaved.

 He was…

 “Wrecker, teach this demon child what you get when you mess with the Toads!”, Bog ordered furiously, dragging Wrecker in front of the child.

 Wrecker’s lip nearly trembled as he unsheathed his sword, the boy hiccupping from fright, like he did. Clinging to his body for safety, like he did.

 He was…

 “Come on, Wrecker… Add to your list of accomplishments! Imagine the tales they’ll tell of the one who killed those who wish to silence us! Those who wish to destroy us! You will be the greatest legend in Toad history!”, Bog encouraged, goating him on.

 Wrecker breathed heavily, remembering his disapproving past self, remembering the horrors of that night, remembering how he screamed for a second chance…

 They had nearly killed him. They had nearly stopped his misery. He was cornered, he was down, and he could feel his heart slow down, and for a moment he thought that he had finally gotten what he deserved…

 But then she had come.

 Leaping into the scene, dressed like the night, she had cut them down. She had bundled him up (despite his size) and she had run to the hills, barely making it as they bit at her heels.

 It had taken the fastest knife slash he had ever seen to ensure he would survive.

 That night, she had told him to run. To find a new life. To live.

 To be the best version of himself. Not a slave, not a mistake, not an embarrassment…

 He would be a good frog. He would be a good frog.

 And she had ensured he would live so he could find himself here, about to create another Wrecker.

 If he killed the boy, he would have become the monster he always feared… And if he spared him, he would create a tortured soul, another Wrecker. And knowing himself, Wrecker could only wish he wouldn’t live to see someone like him.

 “Well… What are you waiting for?”, Bog asked, puzzled, patience wearing a little thin.

 Wrecker saw it. He saw the threshold. The place of no return.

 Both choices would condemn him to be what he always thought he was. Would he truly go that far? Would he truly kill a child?

 Was he really a monster?

 For so long, Wrecker would have told you that he was.

 For so long, Wrecker would have taken the step so the torture could end, so that he could finally recognize that it was too late for him, and that the final rest could finally descend on him.

 He had longed to be good all his life, and then he longed to finalize his metamorphosis.

 But as he gripped the sword, as he towered over the boy, he saw that his soul still flickered ever so slightly…

 Perhaps he couldn’t save himself.

 But he could save the boy. He could at least do that.

 He could at least do ONE. GOOD. THING.

 CLANG!

 Bog’s eyes returned from the sword to see an even more unbelievable sight: “That’s too far.”

 “…Is it?”

 Bog snarled as he stepped up to Wrecker, somehow towering over him.

 “Is it? I assume you didn’t notice all the other “horrible” things we did. I assume you have forgotten your brothers and sisters back home who could all die thanks to these brutes!”, Bog shouted, pointing at the crying messes on the floor, the children, the old lady, the man who was still shivering in his blood.

 Wrecker was beginning to get afraid. Bog was capable of doing anything. And worst of all… He was beginning to make sense.

 Not in that way, of course. But what had made the other things they had done less bad? He had stood by and participated and allowed all this to happen for 30 years now. What made this different?

 But the little voice still pleaded, his soul still fought.

 He stared right back. “We are protectors. Not killers. I… I won’t let you kill an innocent child. Or an innocent man. That is not the way.”

 Wrecker had expected a growl, a punch, a stab, anything. But Bog surprised him once more by laughing uproariously.

 Finishing, he wiped the spittle off of his mouth and whispered a heart shattering statement: “So… You want to play hero, eh? Go ahead… Prove to me you’re not a monster. Go ahead… Prove you still deserve to live.”

 And it was that that made Wrecker freeze.

 Why was he doing this? To… To save himself? Was he only doing this to ease his conscious?

 Wrecker looked at his hands, and saw nothing but blood. He had the audacity to dare to think that he could ever be more than the monster he was from the moment he was born. He had the gall to claim he was doing this for anyone but himself.

 He was saved by selflessness, and he was as ever repaying it with selfishness.

 It was HIS fault he drafted, it was HIS fault he had failed at all other vocations, and the crimes and atrocities committed were on his hands, not anyone else’s!

 Bog was right… He was the monster.

 He had crossed the threshold years ago. There was no way back.

 Wrecker looked down, and with a resigned huff, with a last breath of spirit, walked away, the road long gone, his chance dead once and for all.

 He was no frog…

 He was The Wrecker.

 And that was all he would ever be.

 “Good riddance! Come back when you’re ready to do the right thing!”, Bog shouted out, and returned his gaze to the broken frog before him, the uncle of the boy slowly standing up.

 “Anything to say… Traitor?”, Bog inquired with hate lacing his words.

 The frog hesitated… He would send his people, his friends to sure death. He would kill his comrades and doom the effort. He would be the frog who let Toad rule stay forever.

 But… But he made a vow. He had to keep that at least.

 “…I’ll tell you where they are. Just… Just don’t kill the boy. His… His father died yesterday. He’s suffered enough.”

 Bog took a deep breath and nodded.

 “…Leap Lillypad’s farm. It’s the last house down east. There’s 10 of them. And they’re waiting.”

 He then shook his head, guilt already making it spinning. “That’s it. That’s all I know. I promise.”

 “I believe you.”, Bog replied genuinely, and began to leave, his steps sending tremors through the room.

 As he continued walking, he smirked and said “The boy will live. But you… You won’t.”

 The frog stared wide eyes, barely holding himself up on the wall as the rest of the family gasped in shock. “What? Why?”

 “No honor among thieves… You’re a traitor in two ways. Scum like you don’t deserve to live. You’re nothing but a murderous rat. And there’s nothing I hate more… Than a selfish beast.”, Bog declared, and turning around he shoved his sword right through the frog’s guts, blood covering his face, his teeth yellow and red…

 And he laughed.

 “Leap Lillypad…”, he announced as he walked outside.

 “Today… Frog resistance dies.”

                (“Isolation” – Bryan Taylor, Iron Man 3)

 Tick.

 Tock.

 Tick.

 Tock.

 The Wrecker sat at Pickle’s Inn, the destruction around him surrounding him with more evidence of his failure. A glass of swamp slush mixed with Spyritus, which of course was the finest in Amphibia thanks to the finest grain Marsh Pond had to offer.

 A fly floated in his drink, and Wrecker gazed melancholicly at it, tiny ripples extending forever across time inside.

 Another ripple. Another ripple. Another ripple.

 Another life he has ruined.

 He failed the boy. He killed his father. He failed the boy’s uncle. And that was just today.

 He had 60 years of that to look back on and regret.

 “It’s amazing…”, he thought, looking at the drink and sighing. “Every single decision I’ve ever made has led me here. And every single one has been wrong.”

 He was here to drown his sorrows, perhaps forget that he had ever done any of this. Perhaps he could forget his regrets, and just continue serving, unaware of how wrong it all was. How amazing would that be! To live a life, ignorant of the pain he caused!

 But he couldn’t do that. Clearly, he was bad at being bad too.

 His heart beat rapidly as his hand extended to his belt buckle. His eyes tried to not avert from the dagger. The one he had used to indict himself of his sins for so long.

 “Perhaps the old girl can serve justice just once…”, he thought, sure that… Maybe… Just maybe… This was his chance. He couldn’t help it: Hope didn’t die. He couldn’t be bad, he couldn’t be good…

 Perhaps the best he could do was finally get out of the way, like he had always been told.

 “Guess I never did listen… Did I?”, he thought sadly, and he felt the dagger around, turning it with his palms. It was a bit blunt, worn from years of fighting. A broken tool… Like him.

 “How fitting.”

 If he could just rouse the courage… Just do the act…

 It would be a coward’s death, sure. But at least he wouldn’t be causing more pain.

 And at least he would rest. Finally… Sweet, glorious rest. A rest he had only ever dreamed of… One where maybe… It would all seem funny.

 The dagger began pointing in the right direction…

But the journey to its end point was still on hold. He gulped, as he instinctually recoiled at the prospect of shoving it in.

 “No!”, he shouted at himself, in his head. “I must be brave! This is the only thing I can do that would mean something! This is my last option!”

 He grunted. He shook. Sweat rolled down his forehead as he willed the knife to finally end it. End his pain. At least that.

 “At least give me that!”, he cried, begging for release.

 But…

 The dagger wouldn’t budge.

 The Wrecker, despite his loathing, couldn’t bring himself to die.

 Leaning back, just so very tired, he wondered “Now what?”

 He leaned on the desk, head buried in his hands. “I can’t be good, I can’t be bad, I can’t even be dead. What use am I? What’s left to do?”

 A single tear… Rolled down his cheek. “Where to go? What road to take? Who am I?”

 He whispered. “Why am I?”

 But there was no answer. Still no answer after all those years.

 Shivering, Wrecker truly wondered what was his next choice. What could he possibly do?

 Left with no choice, Wrecker looked up, as if he could see the sky through the roof, and begging, prayed to something, anything.

 “Please… I know I don’t deserve it… But… Please give me a sign…”

 He let out a pained sob, chugging down his entire drink, feeling his chest set on fire inside. It hurt like hell.

 “But not enough.”, he thought, setting the glass down, the clink echoing down the bar table and awakening Annie Lilypad, who was not used to having free time, as you can see.

 “Blaadgdsgsgsg I’m awake! Mwa wake! Nwot nappsing!”, She gibberished, shaking herself awake and looking around with blinking eyes to find...

 “(GASP!), she gasped, noticing the toad soldier from before, when she was walking towards the inn. His armor was dark, foreboding, his cloak bloody and tattered. His face was scar ridden, bulbous and ugly, and his entire aura was imposing and terrifying. Annie could hardly believe her eyes: How could ANYONE look so scary? Even for a toad, he seemed monstrous.

 At first, Annie wanted to hide, or even run as fast as she can, before she found herself 6 feet under. Rooming with her mom on a cloud was NOT something she looked forward to (at least, not yet). Her eyes darted around like mad, praying for some sort of escape. She could dash outside, but there were soldiers everywhere, and he would surely catch up. She could leap to the ceiling, but she wasn’t that sticky, and he could probably throw his dagger from down there. She could cower under the chair… But that would be pathetic and she would die of embarrassment alongside actual death. Also, he’d catch her.

 So all Annie had was to shake in fright as Wrecker looked down at her, a small size difference, but a difference nonetheless. And Annie was tall for a frog!

  “Maybe I could whistle innocently! That never works in the plays I see, and everyone knows fiction isn’t reality!”, she proposed to herself, and she began to do just that, her eyes lazily glancing at the ceiling, her whistling off-key.

 Wrecker observed this for a good 10 seconds before saying “…If you’re trying to get me not to notice you, you’re doing a pretty lousy job.”

 “DRAT! PLAYS! YOU LIED TO ME ABOUT LYING TO ME!”, She cursed, her fist shaking at the ceiling, which made Wrecker look towards it curiously before resuming his thousand yard stare at the wall.

 Annie suddenly realized 2 monumental things: The Toad had noticed her…

 And more importantly, he wasn’t trying to gut her, or shake her down for taxes.

 “Weird!”, she commented to herself, but she was relieved, and she showed it. At least she wasn’t dead or poor! That was something!

 Annie sighed, relaxed, and noticing that she still had some beetle jerky left, began to chew on it noisily, eyes closed in satisfaction. “Nothing like the satisfying crunch of beetle jerky!”, Annie said a loud without realizing so, before shutting her mouth in fear.

 She looked at Wrecker, who looked back at her, seemingly remembering something as he stared at the jerky.

 A million thoughts raced in Annie’s head: “Ohnohe’sgonnakillmehe’sgonnasmushupmybonesandtearmyarmsrightoffandsqueezemyeyesandspreadthejellyontoastwhichI’msurewouldtastegreatbutstillnonoIdon’twanttodiethere’ssomuchIstillwanttodosparemylifeifanyoneisupthereHELP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

 She saw a million different outcomes to her predicament, all of which involved her dying a million different ways.

 None of them actually predicted what would happen:

 “Beetle Jerky… I remember that.”, Wrecker stated, taking a slice and admiring it, the grease and crispness warming his palm in a nice, soothing way, like a warm cup of tea on a rainy November night. His eyes actually seemed to light up, and they made the dark and dreary inn just a little less gloomy.

 And, for just a moment, he actually smiled, a real, genuine smile. “They sold this when I lived in my village. I always liked it.”

 Annie had to blink rapidly to even begin to comprehend: What the hell was happening?

 Wrecker, meanwhile, continued to smile as he described the snack. “The savory, salty taste. The just slightly too hot ends that char your tongue, but in a pleasant way…”

 Annie actually began to smile too. How did he nail the exact feelings she had for Beetle Jerky?

 “Yeah, I know!”, she said with a grin, grabbing a slice too. “But you know what’s the best part?”

 “You bet! Nothing better than…”, he started, and they both exclaimed at the same time after taking a bite…

 “The crunchy sound.”

 Annie looked at him, still chewing, and smiled with her mouth full.

 And Wrecker, for the first time in almost 40 years…

 Smiled back.

 And for a moment, all was peaceful at the inn with two lost souls, mourning their nothingness.

 Alas, though, peace was rarely idle. Annie soon held her head up with her arms and, a little hesitatingly, offered an unsure question, a slight quiver in her words. “I… I didn’t know toads liked Beetle Jerky.”

 Surprised by the racist statement, Wrecker answered the quarry of sorts with an educating statement. “Well, I’m not a toad. But Toad aren’t the problem.”

 He narrowed his eyes, guilt racing though his bones, like the blood in his veins. “It’s Toad Tower that’s the culprit.”

 Annie, meanwhile, was still trying to make sure she heard the FIRST statement, and she rubbed her eyes in disbelief. “I’m sorry, what? You’re not a Toad?”

 A short pause, and then Wrecker nodded.

 “…Are you sure?”

 Wrecker once more took a moment to answer before saying “…I’m something much worse.”

 Annie mumbled “Yeah, I can tell. You came here and ruined everything. But if that’s the case, why are you criticizing your leaders?”

 Sighing, Wrecker began standing up, only to find Annie standing in front of him, curiosity, righteous anger, confusion, and sadness all storming inside her as she held her ground, demanding an explanation. “Wait, no, that’s not good enough! If you’re not a Toad, that means you’re a Frog. And if you’re aware enough to say you’re way worse than the Toads, and that Toad Tower is the problem, then how come you came here to destroy our home? Your home?!”

 Wrecker grunted and pushed past Annie, like she was thin air. His expression sold on his frustration, but also on his self resentment. “No offense, kid, but I’m not going to sit here and give you my life story. I came here to forget, not to be pitied.”

 Annie was shocked. What was UP with this guy? First he looks all scary, then he’s all friendly and chummy, THEN he’s all self hating, and how he’s mean? What the hell is he on?

 Collecting herself, the young frog woman realized that if he was going, that meant he was going to continue hurting (or enabling) her friends, her neighbors…

 Her family.

 Enraged, Annie clenched her fists. She was sick and tired of the Toads and their oppression of poor innocent people. She had seen what they were capable of. How could this guy, who seemed to get that, just walk back in and allow them to continue? He HAD to understand that was insane!

 Still furious, Annie suddenly realized that THIS was her chance, and her eyes widened as the eureka moment made her glow: OF COURSE! The universe was presenting her with a chance! A chance to spare at least ONE frog of more suffering! Of more pain!

 If she could stop this guy before he did any more harm, then Annie would have finally done something worthy in her life! She would have finally done SOMETHING!

 Still, stopping a toad soldier… This guy looked tough. He could probably bite her head off or something! What good would she be if her head was off and everything? She needed it for head-related things!

 Annie considered doing nothing, retreating. She was strong for her age, but she would be nothing against a trained beast like him. There was no use. Better to go back and let him do his work.

 …

 But that was not who she was. Not one bit.

 Like a bolt of lightning, Annie ran out the inn and turned around just in time to meet Wrecker again face to face. The warrior was startled for a moment, but not for long, and he frowned down at her. “Listen, little girl, I am not some sob story! So back off!”

 Annie stared him down, fully determined and not afraid for a moment. “I’m 20 years old.”

 “Whatever. I don’t care, which is what you should do with me. Now, let me go!”, Wrecker ordered, and he began to walk down to her, but she stood her ground and stood on her tippy toes to be even taller than him, eyes blazing.

 “No! Toad or not, you’re a jerk like the others! Maybe even worse! How can you do something you know is bad? How can you let them do something you know is wrong? What kind of person are you?”, Annie shouted, not an ounce of fear or reservation in her tone. She felt brave, for the very first time. She felt…

 Meaningful.

 But Wrecker was not impressed. In fact, he seemed very pained: His eyes were so narrowed you could barely see them, his nails were digging into his palms, and his body was shaking, but whether it was with rage or with desolation, one couldn’t tell.

 Barely able to form words, Wrecker tried his best to get the girl out of his way and out of his head: “Move. Away. Now.”

 “Make me!”, she challenged defiantly.

 “No!”, Wrecker shouted, perhaps too loudly.

 “Why? I thought you Toad Tower guys were ok with killing, considering yesterday!”

 “That’s not who I am! You don’t know the whole story!”

 “Then what is it, then? Why are you letting this happen?”

 “It’s not like that!”, Wrecker tried to finish, but he was really beginning to lose it. He was going to crack any minute now.

 “Really? Because I’m starting to think you’re just a no good, cowardly, vulgar, evil murderor!”, Annie flung the insult, and that was it.

 He snapped.

“YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW THAT?!”, Wrecker screamed at her before falling to his knees, sending a thud that nearly made Annie fall down to the ground.

 Still regaining her balance, Annie stared at Wrecker with shocked eyes, as Wrecker began to actually shed a tear in front of another person.

 He didn’t wipe it.

 “You think that I don’t know what a monster I am? You think I don’t hear that poor frog’s screams? I’ve spent 30 years living a lie because I was the worst at everything but surviving!”, he shouted, his voice getting weak, his true self showing itself to the world, fragile and hurt, an injured soul crying for help.

 “I tried to ignore it… I tried to be better… I tried to be good, I tried to be bad, I tried to be dead! I tried to follow their orders, I tried to stop them from hurting this village, I tried everything!”, he exclaimed, shivering now, his carefully constructed tower of continuity finally crashing down to the ground. All walls and barriers were down as Wrecker finally admitted he was lost to the world.

 Annie, meanwhile, was still shaken, and she could only listen as Wrecker tried somehow to get across how lost he was.

 “I KNOW I’ve done horrible things… I can’t take them back. I can’t take anything back. And I don’t want to be forgiven, ‘cause I don’t deserve it.” Wrecker choked out, wishing his dagger had been braver.

 Burrying his face in his hands, Wrecker finally admitted to a single, horrible truth. “I am sorry. I truly am sorry. But it’s too late for me. It’s been too late for me since the moment I was born. I’m not good, I’m not bad, I’m not anything.”

 He sighed morosely, accepting his fate. “I’m trapped in a cage of my own making. I can’t fix what I did. So just forget about me. Go ahead and be someone. Take the right road, and stay there. Because if you close your eyes… If you give in to yourself… You’ll turn into me.”

 Silence reigned, and with Wrecker still on the ground, Annie did not know what to say. She was saddened by his tale, for sure. She could tell it was real: No one would just act something like that out. Whoever this person was, maybe they weren’t so bad. After all, what kind of villain advices a kid to do better, what kind of villain apologizes for his failures?

 Maybe there was more to him than meets the eye.

 Besides, she knew how he felt. Perhaps… Perhaps she could cheer him up… Just for a moment.

 Slowly walking up to him, Annie sat down silently and looked down at him tenderly. Wrecker, noticing her, looked up, his tear still running down, his face representing the mess inside.

 Smiling softly, Annie sighed and said “…I’m nothing too.”

 Wrecker blinked for a moment…

 And not being able to help himself…

 Smiled.

 “I appreciate that. But as I said: It’s too late for me. I’ve been wrong about every single thing in my life.”, he replied, still broken.

 “If that’s the case…”, Annie said, still encouraging. “Maybe you’re wrong about this as well.”

 Wrecker sat up and observed the woman with an odd look, not knowing what to make of her. Did she actually think?...

 Hesitatingly, she held his hand, and he recoiled at her touch, having not felt the tenderness of another person for about 40 years. She too found the moment a little scary, his bruised and rough hand feeling like nothing she’d ever touched, like the thorns on a rose. But, well, the thing with roses is that there’s more to them than meets the eye, now isn’t there? “I don’t think a nobody would be so nice to someone he’s never met. I don’t think a nobody would try to stop his fellow men from hurting my friends. And I don’t think a nobody would do try and help little old me in anything.”

 Wrecker shook his head, failing to believe any of this.

 She was just being nice for the sake of being nice, and that was all.

 …Or was she?

 After all, as she said, perhaps he was ALSO wrong about this, which would simultaneously be surprising and not surprising!

 Perhaps…

 Wrecker looked at Annie with a rising feeling of renewed hope, or perhaps purpose.

 Something about this young frog with messy hair and a winning, toothy smile, with eyes that seemed to cheer him on, despite only having met him a few minutes ago, made Wrecker feel as if maybe there WAS hope.

 After all, if someone this innocent, this surprisingly kind, and this hurt by the Toads could look at him and say that he could be better, then…

 Maybe he wasn’t so bad.

 But before Wrecker could even begin to think about how amazing that would be…

 BOOM!

 A flare shot up to sky, illuminating the clouds and clearing with a fiery red that changed the mood on the ground completely, Wrecker narrowing his eyes in recognition, Annie’s eyes widening in concern, not knowing for a moment what that was.

 “What does that flare mean?”, she asked hesitatingly, fearing the worst.

 Wrecker, sadly, had to confirm those fears. “That’s the reinforcement flare. They’re fighting the freedom fighters for sure.”

 Annie nodded to all this before realizing where the flare was coming from. And as soon as she did, her eyes filled with tears and she scrambled up from the ground, frantically, face screaming with panic.

 “OH NO! DAD! THEY’RE IN MY DAD’S FARM! THEY’RE GOING TO KILL HIM!”, She screamed, barely believing the words. Heck, she was barely controlling her body: It was like it was on auto-pilot, and she was just along for the ride as she dashed like a madwoman down the gravelly road, scratched feet be damned!

 Wrecker, who had no time to react as the brave girl ran into certain death in lightspeed, soon realized she did exactly that. There was no way she would survive: With Bog leading that battalion, and when they’re fighting those revolutionaries… Why, she’d be dead in seconds, if not sooner!

 …She’d be dead in seconds.

 This poor, innocent, kind soul who did nothing wrong, and who was only being attacked because she was a frog, would DIE because he had failed to stop Bog.

 Wrecker breathed heavily, overwhelmed and guilt ridden, before something woke up in him and he realized: This was the poor boy he had failed today all over again.

 Once more, Wrecker had let a child be in danger because he had wandered off his path.

 Yet, here was the crossroads yet again, clear for all to see.

 One path led to his safety, to a lifetime of dutiful service and easy living, and a chance to go down as one of the greatest warriors the Toads had ever known: A path of eternal honor and pride.

 The other would lead to his certain death, be that in the battlefield, in prison, or even by execution: He would be shamed and humiliated, and his name would go down as a synonym for treachery, and for cowardice. A path of eternal failure and damnation.

 He would never get a chance to fix all his sins. Never get a chance to prove his worth.

 And for a moment, Wrecker hesitated, Wrecker wondered if maybe he was making the wrong choice.

 Maybe it would be easier to just stay on the path he was on, and give in. After all, he WAS a failure.

 …

 But the girl would live.

 Standing up immediately, needing no more convincing, Wrecker clenched his fist, unsheathed his sword, and with a determined deep breath, knowing his minutes were numbered, said…

 “Here goes nothing.”

         (“Fire Nation Theme” and “War” by Jeremy Zuckerman, The Track Team and Lucas King)

“We know you’re in there!”, Bog shouted, pounding the barn door that held the freedom fighters away from his wrath and rage. No one of course answered the door, the fighters preparing for their final stand together, praying it would not be the final stand of frogkind.

 Bog’s battalion stirred nervously as he kept battering away at the door, splinters of wood flying off from the impact of his fist. Armors clinked and clanked in the wind, and weapons shook at the ready, the soldiers well aware that inside were ruthless and vicious enemies, ready to grind up their bones, massacre their families and burn their homeland to the ground.

 Wiping the blood off of his dagger, a piece of ribcage attached to it, that turned into dust as it clattered on the ground, Bog pointed back at the inferno behind him with mock and challenge in his tone. “If it’s your farm you wanted to keep, it’s too late, Lilypad! Your livelihood is like your time: Burning away rapidly!”

 He was almost laughing, a terrifying mixture of rage and utter glee on his face, Pugs noted, still carrying the guilt of her involvement in this sordid affair.

 “Well? What are you afraid of? That we prove you are the vermin you’ve always been? You frogs have done nothing but live off our generosity, and if you think you can destroy the masterace, you have another thing coming!”, Bog called out, most of the soldiers verbally agreeing, shocked that such malevolent actions were planned to be taken against their families and friends.

 “So go ahead… I’d like to see you try!”, He roared, and the field, for a moment, grew silent.

 The sun was almost down, but the battlefield that was once the place where a farmer cared for his daughter more than for himself was illuminated by the bright flicker and crackle of the fire behind the soldiers, which only increased their sweating. The ground which had once been the source of Annie’s first steps as she decided to help her father with the farmwork was now being walked on by toads determined to bring forth his final steps. And the barn where he found the very item that would change Amphibia forever was now being torn apart by the power hungry and blindly self righteous men who had driven his father to hide it here in the first place.

 It was all so poetic, but Leap had not time for poetry. He only had time for the here and the now, and that meant ensuring his daughter lived and his species survived.

 Taking one last lingering look at the place where it began and ended with the smallest hint of a tear in his eye, Leap picked up a carved axe with a watermelon red head, and with fast and efficient work thanks to years of dutiful farm work, chopped a doorway open.

 “MOO!”, the silk worms bellowed, their eyes wide with panic as they stormed out of the barn and raced to the hills, leaving a mucus trail behind them that smelt of home to Leap.

 Turning to his brothers, the front door nearly burst open, a hand beginning to make its way through, Leap nodded and motioned for them to charge as he ran out the back, eyes aflame with courage.

 His legs were barely out of the barn as, armed with rakes, sticks, lit torches and pitchforks, the other freedom fighters stormed right out into the battlefield, their collective effort knocking Bog and his soldiers back onto the ground with a collective thud.

 “For Freedom! For Equality! For Marsh Pond!”, the fighters called out, in utter defiance, hearts in their chest, as Bog slowly rose up and laughed quietly, a chill running down his soldier’s spines.

 “What a pity, then, that you die for nothing…”

 Raising his sword, Bog lumbered up and in one clean motion sliced the head off of the frog in the middle, before fighting off two rakes at the same time, easily holding his own and grinning with anticipation.

 “CHARGE!”, He ordered uproariously and his battalion began to enter battle formations and flank themselves for an offensive onslaught, swords and daggers aimed at the enemy with assurance and poise. Meanwhile, the archers ran back and positioned themselves for long range attacks, though the flaming crops made it hard to see or hear.

 “CHARGE!”, Mog Gravel, who was taking on Bog with a torch now that his rake was lying broken on the ground, ordered, and the fighters left standing ran to confront their oppressors with fires in their bellies and determination in their eyes.

 The sounds of sword swipes and pitchfork clanging echoed across the field as the Toads more than held their own, but found themselves struggling with the utter passion the freedom fighters were exhibiting. Each sword and dagger strike were blocked with a pitchfork and stick parry and vice versa.

 Torches fell on the ground and set one fighter’s rags on fire, and seizing her chance, she grabbed a soldier by the throat to set him on fire too, the two burning to a crisp before the eyes of the horrified warriors.

 Sticks poked out a toad’s eyeball, who quickly retorted with an eyeball removal of his own, blood gushing out of the wounds and painting the path red.

 Arrows sailed down and struck through the heart of one freedom fighter, but due to the intense fire that blocked their sights, the archers also ended up piercing their fellow toads through the heart or head. Some struck fighters would end up taking their arrows out and, with moments left to stay alive, pierce an opposing warrior with same deadly arrow.

 Pugs, meanwhile, was seeing all this and panicking as she sustained the siege with the others in the barrier, soon to be next to lay their life down the line. But Pugs couldn’t stand another second of it: She was not only seeing her fellow comrades die, but also innocent frogs who merely wanted to live as fellow equals die. She was destroying the place her father had described to her so many times before, and she couldn’t live with her betrayal.

 She could only help one faction. And so, she did just that.

 Racing off to the beginning of the burning crop field, she took out her signal pistol and aimed it towards the smogy sky that was not so blue anymore.

 Bog, still barely fighting off two other fighters, while three others somehow managed to subdue his entire battalion, which only furthered to piss him off, turned to her while still fighting and bellowed “Don’t you DARE call for backup! Lieutenant Grime will impede out victory!”

 For 13 years, Pugs had lived and served under a regime that had trained her to fight all those who sought to destroy the common good.

 So she didn’t see it as a betrayal as she looked Bog straight in the eye…

 And shot the flare gun anyway.

 Bog wrestled the frogs off of him and growled at the defiant teen, his sword ready to kill a fellow toad already. “You’ve taken your final breath for your people, traitor.”, he uttered, almost silently, rage consuming him.

 “…Yes. I have.”, she replied bravely, and with one swoop…

 SHNIKK!

 She collapsed onto the ground, her own sword protruding out of her chest.

 Bog stared at the body with zero emotion and merely turned around to confront the men who tried in vain to take him from behind, continuing to overpower them.

 But, unfortunately for him, the other toads were horrified at the death of their friend, who was younger than some of them. They gasped and stared at her now limp body, and this allowed the three frogs armed with pitchforks to slice through their ranks, slowly turning the tide of the battle.

 “YOU IDIOTS! KILL THEM! THEY’RE OUTNUMBERED!”, Bog screamed, and his suffering continued as the sound of hurried marching approached his ears.

 Managing to avoid the archers, Grime and his battalion (who were more or less in agreement with him on not killing the freedom fighters) arrived at the field, shocked and stupefied by the events that played out before them: 5 frog warriors were managing to push back an entire battalion of toads. Add the flaming crops, the limp bodies scattered all over the ground and mutilated by the ignoring feet of the soldiers and the rain of arrows that they barely avoided, and it was a tragedy playing in near slow motion.

 “P… PUT YOUR WEAPONS DOWN! WE… WE WILL TAKE THEM DOWN PEACEFULLY!”, Grime ordered with a mighty shout, but his words meant nothing in the chaotic battlefield. He could barely choke out the words, so taken aback he was by it all. He had sworn he would fix this before it happened, but now it was more than too late! His brothers and sisters, and his fellow frogs were mowed down like flies by the very thing he promised he’d prevent!

 If he wasn’t trained to suppress such pathetic showings of weakness, he would have gone down to his knees and wept for the lives lost.

 But he had to make his father, and his mother… Proud...

 He had to.

 Marching over to Bog and deflecting the pitchfork strike of the frog before him, Grime hollered at his turncoat toad. “I TOLD YOU TO DO WHAT IS BEST FOR AMPHIBIA!”

 Bog, growling, sliced the head of the same frog clean off and stared Grime straight in the eye. “I AM! ARE YOU?!”

 As the two toads clashed with words, Wrecker and Annie finally arrived, narrowly avoiding the arrows.

 Annie’s eyes were hungry with worry: She had clearly cried all she could along the way. Her feet were sore, her knees screamed to buckle and her chest was burning almost as much as the fields she had once worked in, which set off the water works again. She frantically called out for her father, but heard nothing. “DAD! DAD! DAD, PLEASE ANSWER ME!”

 While Annie’s heart tore itself apart, Wrecker found himself narrowly deflecting arrows and looking around for something else: Any threat to the girl’s life. He couldn’t care less about himself, which was why when the flames licked his coat and just failed to set him on fire or when an arrow grazed his cheek or when a sword nearly cut his arm off, he didn’t care.

 All that mattered was that this girl he didn’t even know, would live. All that mattered was that one person would benefit from knowing him.

 He didn’t matter: His path was gone. But she still had a long way to go.

 “Kid…”, he started, as he grasped her by the side and carried her, almost like a briefcase, or a kitty.

 He looked at her, and his eyes flashed with concern, as he realized this all felt sort of familiar. “…You have to survive. Your heart has years left ahead of it.”

 Annie tried to wrestle out of his grasp as he narrowly dodged slash after slash. He slid under a torch, dust kicking up and blinding some of the men.

 “NO! I HAVE TO FIND MY DAD!”, She screamed, her voice nearly lost, tears dampening his arm. She kicked and flailed around, sobs strangling her throat.

 Wrecker looked at her, not knowing what to do. He had to save her… But how was he going to save her AND find her father?

 But the look of utter fear on her face reminded Wrecker that he was once in that exact same place.

 With one key difference: This father could be saved.

 Rousing courage, Wrecker looked around and suddenly spotted a hint of blue skin and a sunhat peeking out of a grassy spot outside of the barn.

 Looking down at Annie, Wrecker decided to play hero, and for once, play it right. “Kid, I just might have good news for you.”

 The smile on Annie’s face made Wrecker wish he could live long enough to see it again.

 If only he had noticed that a pair of eyes were trained on him…

 A pair of eyes, with a mouth that snarled…

 Racing towards the grass, Wrecker could feel his heart leaping from his chest, nearly making him suffocate, as he dodged arrow after arrow, covering Annie from any harm. His body was suffering too, though, the wounds from before beginning to slow him down, and the heat of the fire making his vision blurry.

 His whole body seemed to be seething with pain, as a particularly sharp arrow lodged itself into his back, making him grunt with pain. Blood was surely spewing out of it, but he didn’t have time to care about that.

 This girl NEEDED to see her dad. This girl NEEDED to live.

 “Come on, old man…”, he whispered harshly at himself, turning around and staring straight at the halestorm of arrows that descended upon him, each one looking like it could be the one that finally put him to sleep.

 “Use those survival skills for someone worthwhile!”

 His sword flashed through the air, nearly blinding him and Annie as he took down arrow after arrow, with shocking speed and precision. Each sharp messenger of death was cut down like it was nothing, arrowheads falling aimlessly onto the ground before him, as he backed along, Annie still being held tight.

 Annie had never been that close to death in her entire life, and she was still internalizing seeing her own neighbors fighting for their lives against those monsters. But she had also never seen such bravery as Wreckers in that moment, as he stared death in the eye and never relented.

 Suddenly, he looked at her, mucus dripping down his face from his pores, a gash on his left cheek. It was horrifying at first, when, suddenly, in the most tender voice, he asked “Are you hurt?”

 In that moment, Annie realized that Wrecker was more than he thought he was. In that moment, Wrecker was finally seen as more than a monster.

 “…No.”, she answered, and Wrecker suddenly turned around.

 “Come on! There’s someone who looked an awful lot like you over near that patch of grass! Blue, sunhat, ring a bell?”, he asked, quickly, taking the chance to run as the archers finally stopped firing at him from before.

 “THAT’S HIM!”, Annie shouted with glee, and in no time, Wrecker leaped in the air to land right where…

 “Where is he?!”, Wrecker shouted, in disbelief, and Annie too was shocked, seeing nothing but grass.

 “I… I don’t get it…”, Annie stuttered, tears in her eyes again.

 Wrecker looked at her sadly, bewildered. “He… I saw someone, right…”

 “STOP THE FIGHTING!”

 The swords stopped slashing, the daggers lay dormant in the bloodied and bruised hands of the soldiers, and not a single arrow flew as all eyes laid upon the speaker who stood in the middle of the field, not a single word uttered.

 Because Leap Lilypad held aloft a box, one none of them have ever seen before.

 While one would surely wonder why they’d stop for a thing they did not know, the answer was quite simple: The frogs next to him immediately dropped their weapons and stood behind him, faces suddenly losing their determination and adopting an all too terrifying feature: Surrender.

 A clank was the first sound to echo as Grime let go of his weapon and brandished his words, with utmost care and precision. “…Now… Whatever that is… I’m sure we can talk it out…”

 Silent steps progressed towards Leap, who showed no fear, no hesitation, no worry.

 Just resolve.

 Annie saw him, saw her father step closer to the jaws of death, and a scream nearly went out of her mouth, if it wasn’t for the other figure that suddenly appeared before them, a sword now aiming at her throat, dangerously close.

 “Wrecker… What are you doing with this monster… This FROG?”, Bog spat in derision, silent madness present in his eyes as the wind stopped and time stood still.

 Grime, meanwhile, dropped his dagger and steadily raised his hands in peace, showing he had no intent to kill or hurt the farmer before him, who held aloft his ace in the hole with steady hands.

 “Listen to me… We are NOT your enemies.”, Grime reassured, voice as soft as a mother’s caress. “What my commander did, what my men did… It is my fault. Not yours. Not anyone else’s.”

 Leap stared at him oddly, recognizing in him something very familiar.

 Annie wanted to see her father, wanted to save him, wanted to leap out and dash into the field and protect him from harm, but one inch and her head would be rolling near the grass.

 Wrecker, meanwhile, moved the sword away and fixed eyes with the brute before him, unwavering for once in his life.

 His voice, however, was jumpy, aware of what could befall the poor girl he HAD to save, if he, as usual, failed.

 “Bog… Listen to me… Leave the girl out of this. She’s not your enemy.”, Wrecker explained, trying his best to calm the toad down.

 But Bog was too far gone, and too afraid to do such a thing, and he grunted, the ground shaking from his rage.

 “Have you gone mad?! She’s the enemy! They’re all the enemy! They want to kill our brothers, our sisters, our families! We are THE LINE, Wrecker! And she… She’s going to burn it all to the ground. She’s the monster, not me!”, Bog screamed, years of programming, of brainwashing, packed into one shove, but Wrecker stood his ground, and didn’t fall.

 “I thought that break would clear your mind…. But you’re not thinking clearly!”, Bog stated, teeth gritting in fury.

 Wrecker took a deep breath, looking for a moment at the tearful Annie.

 Realizing she was all there was.

 One life.

 It mattered.

 She mattered.

 And maybe, for just a moment…

 He would matter.

 “Please…”, Grime asked, offering his hand, doing his best to ignore his father’s voice screaming at him for taking this route. He took one knee, to show solidarity of sorts. He had to do ONE GOOD THING. “…Please… It doesn’t have to be like this.”

 Leap sighed, his mind made up long ago. Nothing could shake him… Not even a genuinely good toad soldier. “I’m sorry… But it does.”

 Leap closed his eyes, feeling Eliza’s touch once more. He could still feel Annie, when he had first held her… And made a vow.

 “No, Bog…”, Wrecker said, stepping up, sword now up in the air and glinting. (“The Mandalorian Theme” by Ludwiig Goransson plays). A deep breath, a choice made.

 The warrior was at peace with his decision.

 “For the first time in my life… I am thinking clearly.”

 He raised a protective hand to cover the sobbing Annie, who covered her face and prayed it would all just end.

 “I participated in your war… And turned into a monster. I killed an innocent man and I hurt those in need. Because I thought I had no other choice.”

 Wrecker sighed, before staring right into Bog’s eyes, the beast barely listening.

 “But… I’m TIRED… Of being the monster.”

 Wrecker restlessly grunted as he tried to do something right once more.

 “I have to do ONE. GOOD. THING.”, Wrecker stated, prepared to die on this ground for Annie. “This girl MUST live. So… Strike me down 100,000 times.”

 Wrecker closed his eyes…

 For once…

 At peace.

 “I’ve felt worse pain…”

 A moment passed…

 And Bog pushed him aside, roaring with rage.

 “I have to do ONE GOOD THING. One day… There WILL be peace.”, Leap said.

 “There is no war.”, Grim countered, trying to somehow save it all. “We are one.”

 Leap chuckled warmly and shook his head. “No… No we are not. Not yet.”

 And with that, Leap reached for the box opening, as a wave of arrows, swords and daggers flew at him, and as Grime, terrified of what could happen, leapt in front of one of his men to defend him from what would befall.

 “Fine, Wrecker! I’ll do that once I’m done with her!”, Bog screamed, and he raised his sword, Annie screaming with fright and closing her eyes, hugging herself as death knocked on her door.

 Wrecker, on the floor, stared at this and suddenly…

 “No…”

 Suddenly…

 “No…”

 Suddenly…

 “NO!!!”

 Leapt in front of Annie, deflecting Bog’s sword with his own.

 Finally…

 He did ONE GOOD THING.

 Leap then opened the Calamity Box…

 And as a blinding light spread across the area, as bright as the sun’s rays, Leap shed a million tears and smiled at the sun.

 “Farewell, Annie… See you in a moment… Eliza…”, he whispered, and from then on, was silent.

 BOOM!

 A massive, ear piercing land destroying horror inducing scream of an explosion erupted and sent a shockwave that made the earth itself quake, as bodies flew in all directions, houses got ripped out of their roots and hills got turned into massive sinkholes.

 The streets of Marsh Pond disintegrated instantly, carts and arenas and merchant guilds practically melting, people turning into dust, fires spreading across the crops and destroying them instantly.

 The sky itself seemed to crack almost, a tear nearly caused in the time space contimuum.

 The box had only been opened a crack.

 (“Anakin’s Suffering – Imperial March” – Sad Ochestration)

 Once the explosion began to settle, a dust storm rose, one which woke up a somehow still alive Grime, who could barely believe it himself.

 Choking, he coughed out the dust and rubbed his eyes, only to find that beneath him…

 Was nothing.

 Heart skipping a beat, Grime stood up, and saw that in front of him…

 Was nothing.

 And there was nothing in all the other directions.

 Grime’s stomach tossed and turned, and his heart pounded and his brain pulsed as he turned around and around, but still saw nothing.

 No bodies… No buildings… No crops… No barn, no house, no nothing.

 There…

 They were all gone.

 “How had I even survived?”, Grime thought, staring at his hand as if it wasn’t there.

 Then, it hit him: All his men were dead.

 Grime felt dizzy, his head spinning as he tried to somehow compose himself.

 He stumbled along the grass, trying to breath and not collapse, when he saw Bog’s body.

 At first, Grime assumed the worst, but no… His heart was beating.

 “Unfortunate.”, a voice rang in his ear, and Grime felt a sudden jolt in his heart, as if he only now realized what those words entailed.

“I don’t want that!”, He shouted, but it was no use, the voice continued.

 “You failed me, boy! You let those men die because you weren’t brave enough! How will you ever earn your title, your bloodline, your family, your life! If you do nothing but sob for those who live to serve you! Serve us! You are failing me, boy!”, the voice shouted, and Grime felt like collapsing to his knees, but it would be weak…

 Like Bog…

 And those men…

 Those men HE failed…

 “You should have saved them…”, a different voice called. It was softer, feminine, more caring…

 But somehow, Grime still felt shame.

 “I was weak… I was a failure, like always…”, he sobbed, getting to his knees, realizing he was the only real survivor.

 Grime thought back: to how his methods failed to stop the explosion, to how his foolishness allowed him to leave Bog unsupervised. He was in charge, he was responsible…

 He had killed all those men.

 Blood had been spilled that day…

 And it was all over his hands.

 Weeping, Grime pounded the floor with rage, as if in prayer it would set the clock back, but he was trapped in a horror of his own making.

 “I failed…”, he sobbed. “I failed… I was supposed to be good enough.”

 Grime shivered as his heart cried out for his brothers and sisters he had murdered in cold blood.

 He looked up to the sky, with tears in his eyes.

 “I just wanted to do… ONE. GOOD. THING…”

        (“Corynorhirnus” – Hans Zimmer and James Newton Howard)

 Meanwhile, north of the now totally decimated and demolished Marsh Pond…

 “…Wrecker…”, a voice called in his head.

 Wrecker’s eyes were closed, but somehow, the warrior knew he was floating.

“…Did I do it? Did I… Did I actually do ONE… GOOD… THING?”

 Silence.

 “…Yes.”, the voice answered simply.

 Tears flew freely for once. He sighed in relief. “I… I never thought this day would come.”

 His voice was almost like a child’s as he asked “…Are you sure this is not a dream?”

 “No. You really did come through.”

 “She’s safe?”

 “Yes.”

 Wrecker’s small moment of dread escaped as soon as it came, and he grinned, actually grinned, as he realized…

 “So… I WAS worth it… I… I’m not just a waste of space…”

 His tears cascaded to the ground and Wrecker’s heart slowed down.

 “…Can I rest? Please?”, Wrecker begged, his tone that of a boy who just wanted to be loved once.

 “…You are not The Wrecker… There’s still value in you… You just have to find it…”

 The voice seemed to smile.

 “Wrecker… You are capable of so much more… Than just One. Good. Thing…”

 Suddenly, Wrecker jolted awake, seeing nothing but forest plain…

 And a box that looked all too familiar in his palms.

 At first, he gasped: He saw what that thing was capable of.

 He couldn’t take it!

 Yet…

 Could he leave it?

 “In the wrong hands…”, Wrecker thought, a sense of responsibility that was always there now finally free.

 He didn’t have to finish.

 Pocketing it in a flash, Wrecker turned around, wondering if perhaps the voice was wrong, perhaps he could rest…

 But then he saw her.

 (“Wild Woods” – Forest Music and Relaxing Magical Music – Elven Woods)

 Sitting on the forest floor, the wind blowing her hair, Annie Lilypad bowed her head in mourning to a pile of leaves and sticks she had assembled to form a grave.

 She wished she had the body…

 But it was the least she could do.

 “Thank you… Thank you for loving me, despite me.”, she prayed, her words rising to the skies…

 A cloud seemed to smile at her.

 But she couldn’t tell if it was her imagination.

 Annie had cried so much, she wasn’t sure she could cry more. She was just so tired…

 So she just hugged her knees to her stomach and shook.

 What was left for her to do?

 Who was left for her?

 …What path should she take?

 And in that moment, Wrecker understood his rest would have to wait.

 But he nodded his head, not with pain…

 But with purpose.

 “…Job’s not over yet, old man.”, he told himself, and he limped towards Annie, the explosion having done a number on his right leg.

 Annie was still cold as ice when a hand was placed on her.

 “Come on. Let’s get moving.”

 Annie suddenly looked up, surprised, as the warrior who nearly died for her of all people walked past her and stopped, looking back.

 He motioned with his head, and she slowly stood up, confused, bewildered.

 Why her?

 “…I don’t understand.”, she said, shaking.

 Wrecker took a deep breath. He wasn’t sure how to say it.

 Suddenly, he looked down…

 And saw a path.

 A light turned on in his head…

 And he looked at her.

 “It’s too dangerous out here. Until I can find a place for you to stay… Someone has to keep you on the right path.”

 Annie listened carefully…

 And despite her father’s death…

 She smiled through the tears.

 This…

 This hero had given her so much.

 She had a chance to make up to her father, and be someone.

 And maybe even help this strangely kind stranger.

 Running up to him, she grasped his scarred hand, which had an oddly healing effect on him.

 “Strange… I just got hired for the same job.”

 Wrecker didn’t know what to say…

 But for the third time in a day…

 He smiled, genuinely.

 Perhaps he had finally caught up with the winds of change.

 (“The Mandalorian Theme” – Ludwig Goransson)

 As the duo began to walk down the path, Annie just had one question: “You know… I never introduced myself. My name is Annie. Annie Lilypad.”

 She stared up at him, sending him the love he hadn’t had in 40 years. It was magical.

 “What’s yours?”

 Wrecker looked towards the sun…

 And took a deep breath.

 Who was he?

 He squeezed her hand protectively.

 “…I’m the Wrecker.”

  END OF CHAPTER 1.

       1.  From the very first few lines, this story is about a frog who goes by the name “The Wrecker” and works for the Toads. The intent of this story is to tell a tale of a man who has hit rock bottom, only to discover there is still a capacity for good in him, leading him to slowly but surely climb out. It is one of my favorite types of story, so it was bound to happen!

2.  The soundtrack choices were not easy, but I went for what sounded best in my head. I recommend listening to the songs, but you don’t have to! I would love to know if you guys also have any musical suggestions for the series, since I only know so much!

3.  Fitting that the main inspiration for this fic (The Mandalorian) is the theme that’s used the most, and the one that starts us off. A tale of a complicated and better than he thinks soul.

4.  I usually don’t have a ton of description on my stories, since I’ve always been more of a dialogue and feelings person, but I was happy to incorporate it here! I feel like you can feel many of the scenes, give or take a few mistakes (I am new at this!

5.  All questions about Wrecker (including who he is) will be answered in the future episodes!

6.  I write Toad Tower like a combo of The Empire, Rome, Nazi Germany and The Fire Nation. I try to write from their perspective while offering a glimpse of who they really are from those who are not blinded. The self importance seeps through, sometimes I forget they’re the bad guys! Of course, not all toads are bad (see Pogs, Grime).

7.  Creating cities like Marsh Pond and Swamp City was oodles of fun! I’ve never had to put so much thought into locations before, but I felt like those places feel real!

8.  I never show a flashback of Wrecker killing the freedom fighter because really, it’s unnecessary. He killed someone in what was basically self defense, and situation where he could have died. But this “evil” warrior guilts over it. Seems like perhaps he’s not so bad…

9.  The Path or Road theme is a fave of mine: Wrecker truly thinks he can never leave this road, and when the chance comes he fails again. But that’s the thing about chances: You get more than you think.

10.                   Wrecker is very much an extention of my guilt, depression and complexes.

11.                   Stuff like Dread Pirate Mog’s Chest of the Deep (Dread Pirate being a Princess Bride reference, Mog a generated frog name) and the water producing sands of the Red Spotted desert (Red spotted frogs exist, thought it would be a cool visual) are inspired by the Star Wars method of easter eggs: Don’t give too much, just enough to inspire the imagination. How DID they get those things? What is the history? Who was Mog? A red spotted desert? I would be honored if someone ever wrote stories about those!

12.                   Amethysts, emeralds, sapphires… A la the Calamity box gems (but not the real ones)

13.                   Rome is of course the inspiration for Toad Tower! Lavish, beautiful, it’s hard not to like it! It feels glorious, but it hides a dark truth!

14.                   I especially enjoyed writing the contrasts: See, this Toad Tower looks better, and this Grime feels better, and looks better (no scars, no scary eyes, soft voice, golden armor) but as you will soon see, the Toad Tower we see in Amphibia might not be so bad in comparison. It’s all golden before it darkens into bronze.

15.                   Grime is… Complicated. Anakin Skywalker and Zuko are major inspirations. Grime’s tale is one of tragedy, of a fall from grace. His origin will likely induce tears, and he’s become arguably the most complicated character. All your understandable questions on how THIS nice guy is Grime will be answered soon.

16.                   Not Captain Grime, since this is 10 years earlier and he is 20 (we’ll get to why soon)

17.                   Bog only got worse every time I wrote him. He was only ever meant for a cameo or two, but his violent nature and effective use as a magnifying glass into the evil of the Toad Army and what could Grime become helped a lot!

18.                   Grime is eloquent, so that was fun to write! Getting in his head inspired a few nice sentences!

19.                   Mire’s crimes will be revealed soon enough; just know it’s a Sozin sort of situation, a la Avatar.

20.                   Crossroads are another theme: Big decisions happen every day, and we must make them. We can step closer to the light, or to the shadows. It’s our choice.

21.                   “We Are The Line” is my version of “This Is The Way” from “The Mandalorian”. It is the Toads motto, and their attempt to convince themselves that they are in the moral right for their totalitarian control of Amphibia.

22.                   Captain Muck (for Muck and Grime are synonyms of sorts) is the main villain of this story, and he is more important than he seems. He is the Ozai, the Palpatine of the story, and he is the abusive father that sets Grime on a dark path. Keep an eye out for him, his influence is massive on Grime. I hate him.

23.                   Note how even Grime kneels like a common solider. Muck is THE DICTATOR of Amphibia in every way, his iron grip stronger than anyone else’s.

24.                   A favorite note of mine is how the freedom fighters are addressed: By Grime, it is always in a positive or neutral light, since he believes in the possibility of peace and co-existence. By Muck and many other toads, it is as terrorists, monsters, those who wish to kill their families, their brothers and sisters. Enemies of the state. And Wrecker too sees them as freedom fighters, but that’s later.

25.                   For those curious: No frog had died since a massive massacre that nearly destroyed an entire town, which was Mire’s doing. Since then, Muck had tried to create an illusion of peace as he searched for the one thing that could give him control of Amphibia. Hence, the reason why this violent and disgusting toad had never killed a man… Yet.

26.                   Grime’s relationship with his father is complex: Differing philiosophies do not induce hate. In fact, Grime wants his father to be proud of him, perhaps his biggest motivation, alongside redeeming himself (that’s later) and creating peace between frogs and toads.

27.                   Grime sees Wrecker as a friend (more on THAT later), but Wrecker sees him only as a fellow person to disappoint, so he stays away.

28.                   “When do we start?” may seem an odd line for a guilty man, but the idea here is that Wrecker is so desperate for rest, he’d rather die bad now then fail once more. He truly believes there is no hope, that he has hit rock bottom. But hope can cut through, even in the darkest of times. He still has a chance.

29.                   Crossroads in plural… Because there is more than one chance for redemption.

30.                   Not all toads are bad; in fact, many of them are downright just brainwashed. Pugs is an example of how the lines of black and white are blurred. She really is a good toad.

31.                   Grime, like Wrecker, is constantly criticisizing himself. Grime has an ingrained shame and guilt complex, as well as a fear of failure and a need to be good. Both men share these traits. It’s how they deal with it that’s important. If you read the chapters, you’ll see how they mirror each other all the time.

32.                   Many clues hide in this and the other chapters as to the identity of The Wrecker. I wonder if anyone will know.

33.                   Like many of my protagonists, Wrecker struggles with the concept of his own existence. It is a pain I share: The need to prove there is a reason why you were born. Justifiyng your own life… Is a very lonely business.

34.                   Mellow is definitely my LEAST subtle name yet.

35.                   Re-write your own life. Your story may have had a bad beginning… But it does not mean it’s who you are. It’s who you choose to be that makes you who you are.

36.                   Wrecker is a good man, and not just because of the guilt he feels. But it does play a big part in his story: If he’s such an unfeeling monster, he wouldn’t regret his actions. Regret is the first step towards accepting you need to change.

37.                   Annie is based on my sister. So I love her very much. She is also inspired by Anne Boonchuy, hence the name.

38.                   Annie has many skills Anne has: She has the athleticism, the tennis skills, the energy, the optimism.

39.                   Annie’s big problem: She feels like she has to do something GREAT. She doesn’t realize she IS something great. She too, wants to justify her existence.

40.                   Leap was never intended to play such a big part. In fact, he too was going to be a bad father. But instead, he ended up playing a pillar to aspire to be for Wrecker and Annie, and despite his sacrifice, I feel that he didn’t know that it would kill the entire town. I feel a lot for him.

41.                   Liberty blue, for he strives for liberty.

42.                   Leap enjoys the smell of the farm, Wrecker doesn’t.

43.                   I love how Wrecker and Grime had parents who could not understand them, yet Annie did, which helps he be the moral compass of sorts. She knows what it’s like to be loved, so she loves in return.

44.                   Annie and Anne learned how to pay taxes.

45.                   Annie and Anne also love beetle jerky.

46.                   Nature Vs Technology: The Frogs have old weapons, old tactics, and they have nothing truly advanced. The toads have state of the art weapons. Armor vs rags

47.                   The Calamity Box. Yes. Yes indeed.

48.                   I loved writing all the little details and citizens of Marsh Pond! It was teeming with life!

49.                   Darius and Alexander are references to Alexander the Great and King Darius’ battle? You know, the whole ancient world theme.

50.                   Marsh Pond is part Arab village, part native American village, part medieval town, part renaissance Italy, part American farmland.

51.                   The Toads are sure that the Frogs want to destroy them, not noticing the irony that they guard their captain from little children and mothers.

52.                   Spyritys is literally the most dangerous of alcohols. Wrecker is trying to poison himself.

53.                   Shrek references in dialogue that is stuck together that Annie says is tight!

54.                   Wrecker, as I said, represents my guilt. My shame. My regrets. I haven’t killed anyone, but I am very self resentful and I search for redemption. I can only hope that… That this can help others to see that they too deserve to live. I still fight for that right. But… Maybe I’m not so bad too. Maybe…

[illuminating-the-darkness]

Tempestarii:

One of the oldest artforms of witchcraft is attempting to control the weather. In folklore witches are said to be able to predict and summon up storms and so we will discuss methods of doing just that.

Pertitioning The Divine/Spirits For Weather:

In every culture there are deities and spirits associated with the weather or with aspects of the weather, for example in Ancient Greek mythology the God Boreas represented the North wind. Pertitioning and praying to these deities and spirits was thought to encourage their powers to specific effects such as calling forth rain, wind or storms to this end sacrifices could be made or idols of these forces could be doused in water or threatened with violence to encourage their co-operation. It can be a useful visualisation exercise in trying to control the weather to try to embody these forces to become in mind at one with the clouds, wind, rain and lightning and thus through sympathetic energy to enact greater control over them or when attempting any of the following exercises to invoke or evoke specific spirits and deities associated with the weather phenomenon we are trying to conjour.

Folk Magic:

There are a number of folklores concerning acts thought to evoke the weather such as throwing a handfull of the herbs Broom or Lugwort into the air which is thought to encourage wind and rainfall since both herbs are associated with water, another method involved throwing wet flint over the shoulder which was thought to encourage storms since flint creates sparks when struck and for the moment it is wet and in the air it embodies storm clouds. Finally waving wooden staffs above the head as though conducting the winds to rage was a way of using the wand to command the spirits of air and water to obey.

Weather Forecasting:

Until very recently in history the ability to predict the weather was an occult science based around primitive meteorology and superstitions that were powerful wisdoms at the disposal of witches and shamans, however in todays world fairly accurate weather reports are common place and scientific advancements in meteorology mean that we can have a fair idea of the weather weeks ahead of time and easily predict incoming storms. In any attempt to control the weather in todays world we must be prepared to take the scientific data into account and instead see if we can work with what is already there in terms of incoming weather to try to control and encourage or discourage specific weather patterns and formations, some modern versions of magical weather manipulation involve attempting to spread storms out by conjuring and directing winds or in actually contradicting the scientific data to see if we can for example create rain on a day otherwise forecasted to be sunny. Some natural signs that can predict weather are as follows:

-Jacinth stones turn cloudy in the presence of damp air and resume their brilliance in hot sunny weather making them a natural barometer.

-A halo of light around the sun or moon caused by ice crystals in the air predicts rainfall or snow within three days.

-When flowers smell stronger they are anticipating rain the same is true of strong earthy smells.

-Cattle huddle and lay down together often predicts rain.

-Birds flying high denotes good weather, while flying low or not at all often suggests storms are on approach, birds also become noiser when storms are coming.

-Cats tend to clean their ears before rainfall.

-Dogs eat grass when anticipating rainfall.

-Bats flying in the evening indicates fair weather.

-Slugs, snails, frogs and toads will often be found wandering around outside when rainfall is imminent, when frogs can be heard croaking loudly it means heavy rainfall is comming.

-Spiders come down from their webs before rain.

-Smoke from fire that rises straight into the air predicts good weather while whispy curling smoke is a good indicator that rain is imminent.

-Clouds high in the sky indicate fair weather. Altocumulus clouds which appear as thinly spread clouds or like fishscales predict rainy weather within 36 hours. Cumulus clouds which are slightly rounded and fluffy developing through the day often indicate storms while towering Cumulus clouds which look like cloud versions of explosions often indicate rainfall later that day. Mammatus clouds which resemble swirling breast shaped clouds often herald imminent lightning storms. Cirrus clouds which are very thin whispy clouds in long streaks indicate rainy weather within 36 hours. Nimbostratus clouds which are heavy and low hanging grey storm clouds indicate imminent rainfall. Cirrocumulus clouds which are small fluffy clouds in rows indicate impending cold weather.

-A red sky during sunset in the West indicates dry air and strong wind while a red sky in the morning in the East indicates rainfall or a storm.

-Rainbows in the West in the morning heralds rain while a rainbow in the East in the morning means dry good weather.

-Dew on the grass in the morning indicates that it is unlikely to rain. Dew on the grass at night indicates bright mornings while three or more dewless nights indicate heavy rain is coming.

Whistle Up The Wind:

There is an old belief that whistling summons evil spirits associated with the wind because if you whistle you encourage the wind to whistle back in reply, a powerful witch was thought to be able to summon up gentle breezes and strong gales depending on the type of whistling she used, it is interesting to note that birds which are the creatures of air chirp in a manner similar to the sound of whistling. In order to whistle up the wind we must first be outside and take in a deep breath of the air and feel it within our lungs, we must let our energy unify with the air in our lungs and imbue it with conscious intention to bring forth more of the same; Wind. We must then breath the air we are holding out into a whistling noise visualising the wind it will bring the whole time, it is thought that slow quiet whistles bring gentle breezes while short loud whistles evoke gales and the intent to bring forth such winds must be at the focus of the mind while exhaling the whistling sound. Glass bottles and woodwind instruments can also be used to make the whistling sound that the spirits of the air communicate in and this in turn is thought to encourage them to reply.

Whipping/Stirring Up A Storm:

Witches were said to be able to create storms in all manner of ways wether astral projecting into the clouds to try to influence a storm or in pouring out their cauldrons into the sea which was thought to cause tempests due to the malicious intent that had been stired into the brew and its foul contents. Witches were said to focus on stirring up storms while stiring the water in their cauldrons or by pouring water out or urinating into holes in the ground which would then be stirred to evoke a storm. Witches were also said to be able to create storms by shutting spiders and toads into sealed jars, in the case of toads this is likely due to their association with wet weather, witches also made storms by sacrificing cockerels in their cauldrons, likely because of the roosters association with the sun meaning that its death in ritual could be used to veil or dim the light with cloud cover. Witches also tried to stimulate rain by sprinkling water over broomsticks while mentally embodying the clouds making rainfall. Finally witches were also said to whip streams of water with willow branches to cause storms and rainfall punishing the spirits of the water into obedience and in doing so sending droplets of water and vapour into the air to help stimulate the water cycle.

Rain Dances:

Rain dances are shamanistic ritual dances intended to cause rainfall the shaman and other participents perform enthusiastic dances while dressed in costumes designed to emulate rain spirits and deities the ceremonies are dedicated to such deities and spirits and work on the principle that as the dancers exert themselves they sweat symbolically imitating rainfall which is thought to be evoked and conjured as a result.

Wind Binding:

Wind binding is a form of witchcraft believed to work in one of two ways the first is the belief that the spirits of strong winds could be evoked and commanded into vessels such as bags and jars which would then be sealed so that the wind could be released later when it was required. The second form of wind binding involved taking a long piece of cord which symbolically represents the wind the practisioner then focusing on breathing and tries to embody the spirits of the wind and then taking the cord in hand ties the cord into three knots being careful to trap strong wind between the folds this is usually done along with an incantation proclaiming that wind is tied into the cord then when the wind is to be summoned or released the three knots are untied.

Fertility Rites:

In the ancient world sexual fertility rites were observed where a man and a woman would invoke a God and Goddess of rain and vegetation symbolically marrying those two forces together into sexual union the act of which was thought to fertilise the land and cause rainfall and insure a good harvest especially if the rite resulted in pregnancy.

Sporing Rain:

While the other methods described here are more traditional methods of controlling the weather through witchcraft the following technique is by far the most likely to work. Mushrooms are well known to appear after heavy rainfall and a single mushroom is capable of releasing mass amounts of spores into the air, when mushrooms spore the spores can impregnate low flying clouds and cause those clouds to release trapped rain therefore by pouring water into fields mushrooms can be encouraged to ascend from the earth and can be stimulated to release their spores into low cloud cover to cause rain and storms. Mushrooms are also known to communicate across their mycelium root networks and thus it is likely that each mushroom stimulated to rise and spore will encourage other connected mushrooms across the field to do the same it is also possible that psychoactive mushrooms could be communicated with directly by ingesting them in the fields where they grow and channeling the focus of the psychedelic experience and the mushroom spirit you have embodied towards signalling the mushrooms to rise, spore and cause rainfall.

Seeding Lightning:

Lightning is caused by ice particles within clouds rubbing up against each other and creating an electrical charge which falls to the earth as lightning however ice is difficult to transport since it is prone to melting especially when crushed into small fragments. In order to seed clouds with lightning a practisioner should get up high when low down rainclouds are forming in strong winds that blow in the direction of the clouds and throw powdered quartz crystal into the air above them, quartz is a piezoelectric substance meaning that it generates the exact negative and positive charge needed to create lightning when pressure or friction is applied, as the wind carries the powdered quartz into the cloud it will create strong charges which will fall to the ground as lightning. If the clouds are too high for throwing to be effective fill the quartz powder into a small light weight bag with small holes in it and tie the bag with rope so that it can be whirled around like a sling before being let go of in the direction of the cloud. It may be safer and more effective to drop the quartz powder down into the clouds from above on mountain tops. A final method could be employed by filling a balloon with quartz powder and helium and releasing it into the cloud and then utilising some form of projectile to pop it once it reaches the desired height.

[brujabanter]

taino masterpost!

taino masterpost

so i made a post a whiiiiile ago trying to signal boost taino/hoodoo blogs. more to connect with my ancestral practices. and i’ve gotten a few messages that asked me what i found and in talking with some of y’all, i’ve decided to make a masterpost of the information that i’ve found. maybe we can all compile our posts together and learn! so here goes!

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the information below i got from this website: study & taino

most of the information, you have to unlock by subscribing to the website and i can’t afford to do that yet, so yeah...if any of y’all would like to unlock it and spread the information around, that’d be great. and before y’all say “that’s plagiarizing” or “just subscribe”, i’d like to remind you...this is my ancestral right. my ancestors knew this. the only reason i don’t is because colonization happened to my people and we lost a lot of information and my family did not pick up the practices. this is my culture. i ain’t plagiarizing shit. thank u, next.

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Taino Gods and Goddesses

The Taino word for 'gods' were zemi. These zemi were the various gods, goddesses, spirits, and ancestors they worshiped. Zemi was also the name given to the wooden or stone effigies of these gods. These gods and goddesses are still being researched today, and only little bits of information have been confirmed, but there are several gods that we do have a decent amount of information about.

Many of the Taino gods are still being uncovered, but we do know about a handful of major deities.

Atabey: Considered the most supreme of the gods, the goddess Atabey is important because she is the mother of gods and the initial creator. In fact, she even gave birth to herself, making her one of the more powerful of creation gods in mythic study. She was also the goddess of music, fertility, and beauty. She was depicted as a frog-like figure who is, more often than not, in the birthing position, to symbolize her importance as mother of all.

Guabancex: Goddess of storms and the destruction they bring, Guabancex actually has a lasting legacy in English culture. She was often accompanied by two twin entities who announced her arrival: thunder and wind. Together with them, they created the juracan, a word the Spanish settlers would later translate to huracan, which is more well-known to us as a hurricane. Due to the violent and destructive aftermath of hurricanes, Guabancex was often portrayed as having a very volatile temper.

Yocahu: Yocahu is the leading god of the Taino people. He is the son of Atabey and god of the sea. However, like most gods who lead a people, Yocahu lives in the sky to keep watch over the Taino people. He is also considered a god of fertility as well, and was associated with the Taino's main crop, the root known as cassava. Farmers would bury statues of Yocahu to bless their fields in the hopes of assuring good crops.

Some minor gods and goddesses helped fill out the pantheon.

Baibrama was an assistant god to Yocahu who helped with the planting of cassava. He was also a healing god who would cure people of poisoning from cassava.

Boinayel and Márohu were the twin gods of the gentle rains to grow healthy crops.

Finally, there was Maketaori Guayaba, the god of the underworld.

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wikipedia’s information on taino culture: taino wiki

some, if not all, of this information is from the wiki that i just took out as important to me:

Taíno spirituality centered on the worship of zemís. A zemí is a spirit or ancestor. The major Taíno Zemis are Yúcahu and Atabey. Yúcahu, which means spirit of cassava, was the Zemi of cassava – the Taínos' main crop – and the sea. Atabey, mother of Yúcahu, was the zemi of the moon, fresh waters and fertility.

The minor Taíno zemis related to the growing of cassava, the process of life, creation and death. Baibrama was a minor zemi worshiped for his assistance in growing cassava and curing people from its poisonous juice. Boinayel and his twin brother Márohu were the zemis of rain and fair weather, respectively. Guabancex was the non-nurturing aspect of the zemi Atabey who had control over natural disasters. Juracán is often identified as the zemi of storms but the word simply means hurricane in the Taíno language. Guabancex had two assistants: Guataubá, a messenger who created hurricane winds, and Coatrisquie who created floodwaters.

Maquetaurie Guayaba or Maketaori Guayaba was the zemi of Coaybay or Coabey, the land of the dead. Opiyelguabirán', a dog-shaped zemi, watched over the dead. Deminán Caracaracol, a male cultural hero from which the Taíno believed themselves to be descended, was worshipped as a zemí. Macocael was a cultural hero worshipped as a zemi, who had failed to guard the mountain from which human beings arose. He was punished by being turned into stone, or a bird, a frog, or a reptile, depending on interpretation of the myth.

Zemí was also the name the people gave to their physical representations of the Zemis, whether objects or drawings. They were made in many forms and materials and have been found in a variety of settings. The majority of zemís were crafted from wood but stone, bone, shell, pottery, and cotton were also used. Zemí petroglyphs were carved on rocks in streams, ball courts, and on stalagmites in caves. Cemí pictographs were found on secular objects such as pottery, and on tattoos. Yucahú, the zemi of cassava, was represented with a three-pointed zemí, which could be found in conucos to increase the yield of cassava. Wood and stone zemís have been found in caves in Hispaniola and Jamaica. Cemís are sometimes represented by toads, turtles, fishes, snakes, and various abstract and human-like faces.

Some zemís are accompanied by a small table or tray, which is believed to be a receptacle for hallucinogenic snuff called cohoba, prepared from the beans of a species of Piptadenia tree. These trays have been found with ornately carved snuff tubes. Before certain ceremonies, Taínos would purify themselves, either by inducing vomiting with a swallowing stick or by fasting. After communal bread was served, first to the zemí, then to the cacique, and then to the common people, the people would sing the village epic to the accompaniment of maraca and other instruments.

One Taíno oral tradition explains that the Sun and Moon come out of caves. Another story tells of people who once lived in caves and only came out at night, because it was believed that the Sun would transform them. The Taíno believed they were descended from the union of Deminán Caracaracol and a female turtle. The origin of the oceans is described in the story of a huge flood, which occurred when a father murdered his son (who was about to murder the father). The father put the son's bones into a gourd or calabash. When the bones turned into fish, the gourd broke, and all the water of the world came pouring out.

Taínos believed that Jupias, the souls of the dead, would go to Coaybay, the underworld, and there they rest by day. At night they would assume the form of bats and eat the guava fruit.

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Women

Taíno society was based on a matrilineal system, meaning that descent was traced through the mother and that women lived together with other women and their children apart from the men. Because of this Taíno women seem to have had a lot of control over their lives, their co-villagers and their bodies. Since they lived separately from men, they were able to decide when they wanted to involve in sexual contact. This is in part what shaped the views of conquistadors who came in contact with Taíno culture. They reportedly perceived women as "macho women" who had strong control over the men.

Most historical evidence suggests that, although unclear, it seems that Taíno gender roles were non exclusive to most of the activities done in their community.

Taíno women played an important role in intercultural interaction between Spaniards and the Taíno people. When Taíno men were fighting intervention from other groups, women were left back home turning into the primary food producers or ritual specialists. Women seem to have participated in all levels of the Taíno political hierarchy, they went up to occupy roles as high up as being caciques. This meant that Taíno women could potentially give permission to other Taíno men and women to take on important tasks and that they could too make important choices for the village. There is evidence that suggests that the women who were wealthier among the tribe collected crafted goods that they would then use for trade or as gifts.

Despite women being seemingly independent in Taíno society, coming into the era of contact Spaniards took Taíno women as an exchange item, putting them in a non-autonomous position. Dr. Chanca, a physician who traveled with Christopher Columbus, reported in a letter that Spaniards took as many women as they possibly could and kept them as concubines. Some sources report that, despite women being free and powerful before the contact era, they became the first commodities up for Spaniards to trade, or often steal. This marked the beginning of a lifetime of theft and abuse of Taíno women.

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taino - english words and meanings: https://tainopride.webs.com/tainoenglishglossary.htm

taino people names: http://www.taino-tribe.org/teist-h1.htm

taino words: http://www.taino-tribe.org/tedict.html

some more taino words: http://www.native-languages.org/taino_words.htm

more taino information with some bonus links to books about taino culture: http://www.topuertorico.org/reference/taino.shtml

a beautiful taino calling song that always gets stuck in my head! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w7Lv4377mpI

that’s all i got so far y’all! if you feel like adding more, please do! let’s all learn together about our culture and our rightful magick!

[tabletoptrinketsbyjj]

Trinkets, Worthless, 8: These trinket are garbage plain and simple. They would be termed vendor trash or junk loot in video games. They aren’t touched by stray magic or mystery as with regular trinkets, aren’t made from valuable materials and aren’t particularly useful even if they aren’t damaged.

A box of odd beads that bear no resemblance to eyes, yet always seem to watch the nearest creature.

A wanted poster that bears the face of a terrified elf. The reward is not listed.

A bright orange, ceramic throwing star that will always miss its target.

A small pair of scissors that only cut eyebrow hair.

A glass bottle filled with multiple layers of differently-colored sand.

A dried leaf that is entirely unaffected by any sort of natural wind or breeze.

A shirt button that changes shape every day.

A map with vague directions to an abandoned gnome's house.

A small wooden box that contains a single, worn thimble.

A 1’ x 2’ sheet of white canvas upon which the words “SUFFERING IS NOT ART!” are written and underlined in blood.

—Keep reading for 90 more trinkets.

—Note: The previous 10 items are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.

A box of odd beads that bear no resemblance to eyes, yet always seem to watch the nearest creature.

A wanted poster that bears the face of a terrified elf. The reward is not listed.

A bright orange, ceramic throwing star that will always miss its target.

A small pair of scissors that only cut eyebrow hair.

A glass bottle filled with multiple layers of differently-colored sand.

A dried leaf that is entirely unaffected by any sort of natural wind or breeze.

A shirt button that changes shape every day.

A map with vague directions to an abandoned gnome's house.

A small wooden box that contains a single, worn thimble.

A 1’ x 2’ sheet of white canvas upon which the words “SUFFERING IS NOT ART!” are written and underlined in blood.

A mouthpiece for an unknown musical instrument.

A single newt's eye in a glass jar.

A small jar of nails that can only be driven by a glass hammerhead.

A small jar of glass nails that can only be driven by a cold iron hammerhead.

A sword scabbard that's filled to the brim with tiny wooden swords.

A fine, leather pouch that contains exactly 248 smooth stone pebbles.

A thin sheet of cooking paper that's been folded into a swan.

A decaying wooden knife inscribed by a child that reads "The Ultimate Blade of Destruction".

An old doll wooden doll in rotting knit clothing. The doll's eyes seem to follow the creature closest to it and people who sleep near it regularly suffer from nightmares

A sickly green humanoid bone.

An odd metal cog that spins on its own every so often.

A small wooden carving that depicts a naked goblin scratching his hindquarters.

A small dull dagger that refuses to sharpen.

A rusted coin that slowly absorbs oil it comes into contact with.

A long letter of complaint addressed to a school teacher criticizing his methods and general personality.

A glass jar containing a dozen folded paper frogs.

A small jar of hard candies that taste of sour apples and never seems to go bad.

A small doll with a cloak and toy dagger attached. On the back of the doll, the letters "TDG" are written.

A drinking horn with an odd rune carved on it.

A tiny pink bottle that smells of roses when it is empty.

A wooden carving of an orc doing a handstand.

A small twig that doubles as the perfect toothpick, no matter who uses it.

A gnome's hair brush.

A small painting of a horse's rear end.

A cork for an old wine bottle that won't fit in any other bottle.

A small pot of horse glue that says “NOT FOOD, SERIOUSLY” on the side.

A bamboo scroll tube containing a legal and notarized deed for a house whose address doesn't exist.

A dagger made of folded parchment, that could at best give someone a paper cut.

A wooden box containing twelve matching pieces of broccoli that have somehow remained fresh.

A bar of soap that smells like rotten meat.

A key that breaks the first time it’s used in a lock. To add insult to injury, it doesn't open the lock.

A tin of makeup that's just the most absurd shade of orange.

A magically preserved apple that tastes like an orange.

A letter from an unknown sender that simply reads, “I told you so!”. The return address is plainly labeled “Feywild”.

An undersized wooden backscratcher, for use by gnomes.

A tattered blacksmith cap full of red dwarf hair.

A small roll of leather that's been cured with giant urine.

The hollowed-out shell of a large hermit crab.

A crudely made treasure map that leads to a beggar's dandelion garden.

A small blue stone that feels like silk to the touch.

A pocket multitool with only one tool remaining in it. The remaining tool is a magnifying glass that has the words "Find the rest of me." inscribed on it.

A wooden scroll case filled with fine ash. The top of the lid sports a tiny iron spike that may have triggered some sort of combustable trap.

A fist sized bar of harsh lye soap

A homemade pan flute consisting of a dozen reeds of gradually increasing length held together by vines and dried grasses. Despite its crude origins it plays quite nicely

A dog muzzle made out of leather and steel with adjustable straps that allow it to fit most medium and large canines.

A brown leather hawk's hood that's used to keep the birds docile during periods when they are not hunting or resting.

A ceremonial headdress of similar make to one of the local barbarian tribes, with the exception that it is made entirely out of steel wiring and tin spoons. You’re not sure if this is some sort of artistic interpretation, strange inside joke or weird form of insult.

A preserved, hollowed out corpse of a Flumphling stuffed with sage.

A metal flask containing a thick concoction that smells dark and musty, like a forest after heavy rains.

An unremarkable spoon fashioned from horn.

A thick, heavily padded leather and burlap sleeve made to fit over the bearer's arm and serves as a target for animals being trained to attack.

A sealed one gallon cask of Bufo, a favorite drink of goblins, boggards, and other primitive humanoids. It is made by soaking a poisonous toad or frog (Or its eggs) in weak beer or by “milking” these animals for their poison and mixing it with the beer (Allows the animal to be used repeatedly). Some tribes use wide-mouthed jugs and leave the dead animal inside as a crunchy treat for eating once the drink is gone.

A sealed one gallon cask of luglurch ale. This pale frothy beer is found by most races to be too salty to swallow, with the exception of halfings who find it an acquired taste

A clockwork blue bird that emits a horrendous screeching sound when it is wound up.

A musty smelling, threadbare, grey towel that never completely dries. If someone attempts to dry themselves with it, they will develop a mildewy smell exactly like the towel until the creature takes bathes and dries off with a proper towel. 

A purple ring box that croaks like a frog when opened. It is lined with lime green satin on the inside and smells of a swamp.

An old black cord with three matching light blue buttons, strung on it, all about the size of a gold piece.

A large piece of parchment with a tea stain in the shape of a kitten.

A rolled up parchment with a sketching of the ugliest Dwarven baby the bearer has ever laid eyes on. 

A beat up, wooden compass that always points towards the bearer, never north.

A plain, wooden footstool about six inches high, with a round top about 18 inches across.

A crude, 500 piece puzzle that appears to be a treasure map, but 100 of pieces in the middle that show the specific coordinates and details of the treasure are missing

A thick braided cord made of dark leather, hanging from which is a giant's toenail reeking of cheese.

A voodoo doll of a young man that's missing it's head.

A small jar of chocolate cookies that cannot be opened or broken.

A set of crooked and yellowed dentures with teeth missing.

A dictionary with over half of the words spelled wrong and out of alphabetical order.

A brass chamber pot that was not thoroughly cleaned since its last use.

A wooden scroll tube containing the blueprints of a church that has long since collapsed.

A faux-distressed piece of parchment that is a crude map of the local area, with red circles and arcane gibberish scrawled on it. Intentionally made to look old and worn, it’s actually a simple piece of parchment that’s been singed, crumpled, and rolled in the dirt. It's obviously meant as bait to lure creatures into an ambush it appears that whatever dimwitted humanoid authored this had a very poor knowledge of spelling and grammar. Any literate creature who so much as glances at it can identify the map as a fake.

A plain thimble, with absolutely nothing particularly interesting about it.

A crude earring made from a tiny tooth, wrapped in thin twine.

A formal letter that is badly seared and charred. It’s impossible to decipher because of the damage.

A small blue candle that smells of fruit. It’s fragrance is weak and barely noticeable.

An assortment of pieces from cracked eggshells. Most are a pale creamy color, like the egg of a chicken. Some larger pieces are a deep purple.

A porcelain doll about the length of a human’s index finger. The face is chipped away.

A black flask with a gaping hole in its side. It’s covered in punctures that look like bite marks.

A silky cloth fraying quite badly around its edges. It’s almost reflective in its lustrous sheen.

A smooth, round stone about the size of a human fist. It feels oddly heavy.

A set of three clay dice, painted with black pips.

A chunk of rusted metal covered in dents.

A somewhat oval-shaped… thing. You think it might be really, really, really stale bread.

A pair of glasses whose frames look as good as new, but the lenses are stained, cloudy, and cracked.

A trio of matching bracelets, made from knotted thread. You’re almost certain there’s supposed to be four of them.

A hollow reed that creates a low, soft whistle when blown.

A hand sized figurine of a cat, perpetually coated in a layer of dust.

A waterskin filled with a slick, greasy oil. Patterns of snakes cover its sides.

A single tile that appears like it was from some type of mosaic mural. It’s a dull green in color.

A pouch of bitter tea leaves. Their aftertaste is unsatisfying and almost sour.

A jagged arrowhead, cracked into a shape reminiscent of a fox’s head.

[amphibiosis]

Rules: Answer 21 questions and then tag 21 people who you want to get to know better.

Thank you @ghiblimutual​ for tagging me :D

Nickname: Toad !

Zodiac: My Chinese zodiac birth year is the horse, and my birth sign is Pisces.

Height: 5′7″ ish

Last Movie I saw: Monty Python and the Holy Grail !

Last Thing I googled: Something about Rosetta Stone

Favorite Musician: No idea!

Song Stuck in my Head: None atm

Other Blogs: I used to have a random junk blog and a minecraft blog but I don’t use them anymore.

Do I get Asks: No :’(

Following: 700

Followers: 170

Amount of Sleep: 12 hours if I’m able.

Lucky Number: hmm 2

What I’m Wearing: Grey and back baseball tee and a blanket on my lap.

Dream Job: I don’t know yet.

Favorite Food: I could never choose but I have been eating a lot of peanut butter....

Play Any Instruments? No but I have tried piano and that would be my pick to learn, because it makes the most sense to me.

Languages: English and some Spanish. I would like to learn a whole bunch more.

Favorite Songs: Couldn’t pick one. Random song I like: Spanish Bombs - The Clash. But that is not a favorite I just thought it was better than putting nothing...

Random Fact: I think my bellybutton is off center

Describe Yourself as Aesthetic Things: I had to ask for help on this but I was told: The beach, blue, lighthouses and a light storm by the sea (I would add grassy coastal cliffs with old wooden fences), ponds, lily pads, and clear skies. :)

Tag Your 21 People! NO PRESSURE TO DO IT: Anybody who sees this and wants to !

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #143

“i’d rather be in battle than slaughtered like cattle.”

Were you happy or sad when you found out your babysitter was coming?  Sad, I had separation anxiety from Mom. Did you have a boyfriend in kindergarten?  No. Did you ever read the "Junie B. Jones" books?  LOVED THEM. Were you friends with your neighbors?  I was friends with a boy down the street. Did you ever play the "Reader Rabbit" computer games?  YESSSSS I LOVED THE BIRTHDAY PARTY ONE. What kinds of games did you play with your friends during Recess?  None really, we just played on the swings and such. What was your favorite kind of cake as a kid?  Chocolate. Who were you last in an elevator with?  Mom. Do you know anyone that has a black belt in karate?  No. If you have a notepad in your phone, what do you use it for the most?  I have tattoo ideas on it lmao. Who is the last child that you took a photo with?  Aubree. How and where did you get your most recent cut?  On the side of my hand.  I was drying my feet off after a shower, and my toenail cut the fuck out of it. ;-;  Pretty sure the scar's gonna be permanent. Would you ever get a nature tattoo?  Yeah, sure. Do you have any locked texts messages?  A few from Sara. Is anyone saved in your phone under a nickname?  My sisters are just "Ash" and "Nicky." Which company provides your car insurance?  I don't have my own car. Have you ever ordered from an informercial?  Nope. When, where, and why did a needle last pierce your skin?  Tattoo parlor in June to get a tattoo. Why did your last relationship end?  I didn't like him like that, I found. Do you have any tan lines?  No. Have you ever had any friends with benefits?  No. How old were you when you became financially independent from your parents?  Lol I'm not. What’s your favorite flavor of potato chip?  Ummmm probs salt and vinegar. Do you have a lock number or pattern for your phone?  No. What was the hardest language you’ve ever tried to learn?  What the super fuck even is Latin. Do you have any food intolerances or allergies?  No.  Well, without my medicine, bananas give me hellish heartburn. What’s the most number of people you’ve ever lived with?  Five.  Mom, Dad, two immediate sisters, and on different occasions my half-brother lived with us, then Dad's daughter stayed here a while. How many college degrees do you want?  Ideally, a master's because that's what is required to be an out-in-the-field zoologist.  I can do some things with lower ones, though. What do you look forward to most in the next two months?  Photographing my first wedding, my nephew's and mom's birthdays, going to see Sara in a little over two. What song explains how you feel about love?  "When It's Love" by Van Halen will always be way up there. Have you ever been IN a wedding?  Yeah, bridesmaid at Ash's. Have you ever been covered in mud?  Probably as a kid? Are there any books you wanna read?  I'm always gonna wanna read Rhett and Link's book, and I wanna start reading Wings of Fire 'cuz it sounds like something I'd like, thanks Sara. What classes are you taking in school? I'm not back in it yet. What is the last song you attempted to play on an instrument? I don't remember.  I took my guitar out months upon months ago to try and mess wi- OH, it was "Sweet Child O' Mine," and it went down horribly lmao. Could you handle being married to the last person you kissed?  That's the plan, buddy. Do you crack your knuckles?  No. How do you react when people sing “happy birthday” to you in a restaurant?  Get really shy and look down, but can't help but smile. Ever been shot by a paintball gun?  No. Have you ever had a significant other with a mental disorder?  Yes. Are you a moaner, a screamer, or totally silent?  The first. Have you ever tried Nutella?  I love that shit. Are there any activities which are “meant for children” that you still enjoy?  Yeah, movies, shows, games... Is there anything you wish you had started doing when you were younger that would have had an impact on or would have helped you with your life today?  Yeah.  I should've worked on social skills way sooner.  I should've fought back younger. Can you read lips?  Not at all. Are you part of any online communities? If so, which ones, and how did you get involved in them?  Only really KM, and because I've been in the meerkat RP community since '05. When vacuuming, do you have a set pattern or do you go willy-nilly?  Somewhat of a pattern. What’s your favorite kind of bread?  Pumpernickel. Who’s your favorite Muppet?  I don't have one. What’s your favorite monster? (can be Monsters Inc, horror films, stories, or myths, whatever)  Probably the Jersey Devil or Mothman.  Or the Dover Demon.  I like cryptozoological stuff okay. Have you ever considered shaving your head? Have you shaved it?  Noooooo. Have you ever seen a polar bear in person?  Yeah, at zoos. What’s your favorite school yard game? (4-Square, Kick the Can, etc)  I think it was called 4-Square... but I'm not sure. Have you ever boycotted anything?  No. Would you fall apart if that last person you kissed walked out of your life?  Um you have no idea. Are you against smoking weed?  Yeah tbh.  However I know there's lots of evidence coming out proving some of its medical uses, but I'm still kinda.  Unsure about medical marijuana. Who do you feel most comfortable talking to about your feelings?  Sara. Who of the opposite sex has seen you at your worst?  Jason. Who were you dating this time last year?  Girt. Have you ever smoked pot?  I've only ever been in the presence of people smoking it. Are your ears gauged?  No. Have you ever played beer pong?  No. Do you believe that you are a good girlfriend or boyfriend?  I sure hope so. Would you hug your ex again?  A couple I would. Do you like to climb trees?  I wouldn't know. Name your three closest friends.  Sara, Colleen, then probably Alex?  Although she hasn't been talking to me lately. What is the best kind of Girl Scout cookie?  I loved the chocolate and PB ones. Do you like it or hate it when your partner is clingy?  To a degree, I like it.  Shows they really do care. What kind of jelly do you buy?  Grape. Is your dad overweight?  He's underweight. Do you know all the words to “Don’t Trust Me” by 3oh!3?  I don't feel like playing it in my head but maybe 'cuz that song was my shit. What movies have you cried to?  Oh yeesh, I'm a fucking baby.  The Notebook, A Walk to Remember, Old Yeller, Logan, The Outsiders, Titanic, The Hunger Games (I think), and how could I almost forget Forrest Gump.  I knoooow there's more tho. Do you love substitute teachers?  No.  We would sit around doing nothing. Does your personality generally fall in line with gender stereotypes?  Not really? What’s your favorite movie soundtrack?  Off the top of my head, maybe Blair Witch Project 2: Book of Shadows. If you could own any 3 fictional objects from any book/movie/show, what would you choose? (does not have to all be from the same book/movie/show)  I legitimately want to commission someone to make a wooden model of Lord Emon's mask from Shadow of the Colossus.  I want so much SotC stuff, but shit expensive man.  Ummm having the Seal of Metatron from SH3 would be an awesome lil collectable.  OH YEAH and why the hell not have a hearthstone from WoW so I can go home in a jiffy whenever I want. :'D How far away do you live from the last place you lived?  Like... 10-15 minutes? Do you know anyone who’s had their kids taken by Child Protective Services?  No. You’re in a food court, what do you feel like eating?  Pizza, probably. Have you ever seen someone sleepwalk?  Yes, my younger sister.  She legit tried to go outside, but I obviously stopped her (I was the only one in the room). Have you ever thought about getting your tongue pierced?  Yes, and I would if I didn't have a damn retainer. If you had to move in with a friend, which one would you pick?  I'd move in with Sara any day. How does alcohol affect you?  Okay so I handle alcohol extremely well so I've never seen serious changes... but I do know if I'm tipsy, I'm more talkative and outgoing.  I don't think my face flushes anymore. When was the last time you had a cold or flu?  Holy shit I couldn't tell you for a cold.  I've never had the flu, thankfully. Have you ever watched Parks and Recreation?  Girt and I watched a few episodes.  It wasn't bad, but the fact still stands that I can't really get into TV. What is your favorite kind of pasta?  Typical spaghetti and meatballs. What color is your shampoo?  Pink. Is there a special someone in your life right now?  Yes. If so, tell me your favorite thing about their personality and their looks:  She's strong as fuck and her smile's to die for. Ever made a guy cry?  Yeah. Has a guy ever made you cry?  For over a year straight lmao. What’s the worst goodbye you’ve ever had to say?  To Jason. What make up product do you never use? It'd be easier to tell you only what I do use.  I only ever wear eyeliner and then sometimes eye shadow, mascara, lipstick, and very rarely foundation. What is one place you have been to and hated?  Uhhhh idk. Have you ever seen a jellyfish?  In aquariums, yes.  So majestic. Did anyone ever draw on your face when you were sleeping? No. Have you ever done that to someone else?  No. Were you ever chased by an animal?  Only pets playfully. Have you ever started talking to someone that you thought was someone else?  Omfg I did this a good number of months back at the tat parlor and the embarrassment will stay with me forever. Name one person of the same sex as you that you wouldn’t mind dating? Okay so I'm not gonna be a smartass and say "my girlfriend," I'll actually answer this as if we weren't together.  I'd date Suzy Hanson in a heartbeat, come at me Arin.  Fuckin sweetheart. Do you know any vegans?  No. What’s your best friend’s pet’s name(s)?  Sara: Martha, Crowley, Little Dot, Buster, Mabel, Doris.  Idk the toads' and fishes' names yet.  Colleen: Miracle and Maxwell. When was the last time you were disappointed?  Two or so days ago, real bad.  Mom put aside buying the concert tickets regardless of how many times I reminded her, and now we can't go. Have you ever been on a blind date? No, not my thing. If you have a job, who’s your closest friend at work?  No job. Do you see yourself married in the next five years?  Probably at least engaged.  Maybe married.

[americaneldritch]

For the Book of Dead Names Project. Story & art by Aladdin Collar. 1500 words, based on details from HP Lovecraft’s The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath. 

IN HER WAKING LIFE, princess Snireth-Ko was kept shuttered in a high tower, protected from all who might want to do her harm. She heard many tales of horrors beyond the castle, stories of cruel men and hungry beasts, and she did not wish to leave her comforts. She was taught to be quiet; to be kind; and always to honor her King.

But in dream, Snireth-Ko was free to wander, and she obeyed no rules at all.

She frequently visited the Temple of the Hushed Bog. There, the butterflies were twice her size; the Hulking Spotted Toads had soft wet pelts like otters, and had tremendous throats that could spit a stone over a mountain. The Priests of the Temple paid Snireth-Ko no mind, so long as she was quiet, and so long as she wore bright colors for to scare away potential predators. The princess was very good at being quiet, and all her silks and dresses were dyed with the most vibrant hues. She spent many dreaming nights in the swamp.

When Snireth-Ko wanted to run and make noise, and went to the Meadows of Rakk, the Golden Hills, where sloped plains of wheat rolled openly for miles. Here lumbered the herds of buopoth, docile creatures with strong hooves and sharp beaks, which paid Snireth-Ko no mind. The Meadows were broken up only by leviathan trees, whose heavy branches dipped down to the ground, from whence Snireth-Ko could climb. At the highest branches, hundreds of feet above the Earth, Snireth-Ko could see the Dreamlands stretch out for many miles. She saw great forests, webs of streams and rivers, treacherous steppes and mountainous juts out stone. The many terrains twisted and changed from valley to valley.

Sometimes, Snireth-Ko wandered along the banks river Skai, and listened to the songs of magah birds at rest in the canopies, and to the mocking fish that whistled the birdsong back to them, in bubbling minor harmonies. The most wonderful vessels would pass; merchants and traders with ornately woven gold through dark oaken boughs; naval ships, carrying armored warriors, and flying intricate coat of arms; even the fisher folk and humble boats and rafts had their own unique designs, carvings, and colorful flags upon the mast.

One day, along the River Skai, Snireth-Ko was amusing herself by focusing light through crystals, for to set dry kindling ablaze. With her intense focus on combustion, she did not notice the approaching merchant vessel - as beautiful and decadent a ship as any that had come before.

The merchant vessel, sighting Snireth on the shore, dispatched a pinnace and two brutish men with long mouths, dressed in dreary brown robes. They captured Snireth-Ko, and brought her aboard their ship.

A horrible greyish white creature emerged from the galley - it was built in stature like the Hulking Spotted Toads, but it was hairless and muculant, with a mass of wriggling tentacles where its face should have been. Snireth-Ko knew that it was called a Moon-Beast - it played a hidious song on a crude pipe, and the ship began to rise out of the water, sailing through the air.

Before long, the ship was higher than the highest Leviathan tree; after several hours of ascension, the whole Dreamlands below were but an distant orb, a shrinking marble wrapped in fog, clutched in the black void of unplumbed space. Above, another cosmic body swelled; the moon, it all its pale illumination, grew huge upon the ship’s approach. All the while, the Moon Beast piped his odious notes.

Snireth-Ko had heard many tales of the Moon-Beast, how they captured slaves from the ranks of men, used them for horrible experiments, and sold the remains to traders on distant worlds.

Snireth-Ko would not be conquerored. As the great port city came into view, red litten by ominous lamps hung through the streets, she slipped out of her shackles, and deftly plucked the Moon-Beast’s pipe from its bulbous paws. She blew one shrill note - and the whole ship heaved, tipped, picking up speed at it careened downwards at a treacherous angle towards the horizon.

The Moon-Beast and the Long Faced Men attemped to reclaim the pipe, but Snireth-Ko threw the instrument off the starboard deck, and the vessel could not be rightened.

The ship flew past the red litten city, and on beyond the white dusty hills beyond, and towards the unknown dark of the moon’s far side. As the sailors saw their fate approaching, they threw themselves overboard, rather than endure the horrors of the unknown. The Moon-Beast was last to hop off.

As the ship was cast in shadow, the new terrain could be distinguished. It was a vast swamp of ash and pitch, bubbling craters of oil and tar, surrounded by stony patches and clumbs of brush, scrub, moss, and lichens that held no color at all. There were a few luminations across the landscape; some glowing cat tails; little bursts of electric activity between trees; and a few small, slow burning fires, where the tars and oils were alit in their craters.

As the impact approached, Snireth-Ko felt the flutter in her stomach that typically preceeded a return to waking life - but she did not want to wake, and the ship, it did not crash; it merely skimmed along the muds and wet swamp until it came to a sluggish halt, intact. The oaken vessel then began to sink, the soggy mire below bubbling and releasing long trapped pockets of suphuric gas.

Snireth-Ko hopped off the galley, onto a stone - the first of her kind of set foot upon that dark expanse. Beyond the mineral wastes and pallid vegetation, she saw no signs of movement, no signs of life. She picked up a stone, and threw it as far as she could - when it clattered against the rocks, there arose a command of many hushed voices, as projected from within the moon itself: “Hush.”

Snireth-Ko thought perhaps she’d just imagined it, but, nonetheless, she did her best to walk quietly among the alien landscape.

Then, at the far horizon, from whence she’d come, she saw them - a fleet of silhouettes against the rose glow that hung low in the otherwise blackened sky. They were merchant ships, two dozen of them, in flight - the Moon-Beasts, surely - and their galleys were aglow with red litten lamps that cast focused spotlights down to the craggy terrain below, and the odious piping crescendoed. The song was clear - they were searching for Snireth-Ko.

Again, as if from within the moon itself, came another whispered command: “Hush.”

As the ships barrelled forward, their lights reaching closer and closer,  Snireth-Ko looked for some cover, some saftey, but could find none. The vegetation was not thick enough in which to hide, and she would not submerge herself in the sucking mire.

It was too late; the red light swept over the land faster than any beast, vessel, or messanger of the gods, and Snireth-Ko was spotted in its focus. She felt a warm heat all over her body. All she could see was bright red light, as the piping grew louder. As the notes swelled, the ships drew closer, and each focused their light upon her, increasing the heat.

Like the smouldering tar pits that surrounded her, Snireth-Ko began to slowly boil, blinded and deafened by the assault of the proud Moon-Beasts, who would not be bested on their home world. There was no escape from the light. She fell to her knees, enduring the rays in silence.

Again, Snireth-Ko heard the voices: “Hush,” they commanded, no longer at a whisper. The sound no longer came as if from underground, was  all around her - and the princess saw, from the tar pits, from the oils and mud and clay, hulking spotted figures beginning to to emerge, toadlike, with soft wet pelts like otters.

The spotlights suddenly lost their focus, as Snireth-Ko heard a crash; when she regained her senses, she saw one of the sky ships spinning out of the control, and crashing, with great calamity, upon the rocks. At her side on the ground, a thousand Huking Spotted Toads had revealed themselves, dripping with pitch and mire. They scooped into their mouths great masses of stone and tar, and, like cannons, violently expelled the compounded material from their tremendous throats.

The Moon-Beast fleet was quickly demolished; the wooden planks were shattered, and vast canvas sails torn asunder. The frantic survivors, piping moonbeasts and screaming humans alike, were quickly devoured as they attempted to flee from the wreckages. None of the Toads dared eat Snireth-Ko; even in the dark, the vibrant colors of her dress signaled danger.

When Snireth-Ko awoke the next morning, she was no longer afraid of the world beyond the castle. She packed a bag, and picked out a vibrant dress. Without telling anyone, she took a pony from the stables and left her home and crown behind.

[mothmansjuicymetalass]

Random joke magic items

Here’s a list of random joke items to use for fun in your campaign. I’d recommend adding them to treasure hoards rather than subbing normal items for them. Anyway here they are:

1. Ace of Spades - An ace of spades from a standard card deck. No matter where you store it on your body, you will always be able to find it in your right sleeve afterwards.

2. Amulet of Extra Amulet Slot - This amulet allows you to gain the benefit from two magical amulets rather than one. It cannot be further enchanted.

3. Amulet of Feather Fall - When worn, this amulet turns into a feather and falls to the ground.

4. Amulet of Unbreaking Bones - Con-man says you can’t break any bones. Really, he means other’s bones. -100% damage against skeletons.

5. Amulet of weather detection - yells that it is or is not raining.

6. Anti-Matches - A box of matches. Striking one will make it begin to drip water from the tip while the match shrivels away. The amount of water a match releases is about enough to fill a tablespoon.

7. Arrow of Euarere - A silver arrow, suspended on a string. It always points to the person holding the string.

8. Arrow of Slaying, The - This magical arrow is capable of killing a creature.

9. Artist’s Bludgeon, The - Inanimate objects hit with this bludgeon will receive no damage; they will however change color.

10. Attentive Guardsman’s Pike - These ornate and deadly-looking ceremonial pikes are reach weapons and appear to weigh at least 20 lbs, not counting the weight of the fluttering banners that can be unfurled for parade use. Constructed of shadowstuff, they weigh one pound, and inflict only a single point of damage on an attack, being almost entirely for show, although they also have the unique property of remaining in place when set (although unable to support more than 20 lbs), allowing a ‘resting his eyes’ guardsman to prop it up and leave it standing under its own power, while his hand sags off of it.

11. Attentive Guardsman’s Tabard - A dozen of these tabards were fashioned for palace guardsmen in the Empire of Sard, 250 miles from the nearest enemy. The bearer is placed under a glamour that causes him to appear alert and awake, even if his eyes are closed and he is snoring lightly.

12. Axe of Big Numbers - This axe shouts “Big numbers baby, come on!” whenever it is swung, but always deals 1 damage or less.

13. Axe of Empathy - Every time you hit something with this +5 greataxe, you get dealt an equal amount of damage. Both you and the thing you hit are then healed the amount of damage dealt by the axe, even if either are dead. The Axe hopes you have learned your lesson.

14. Axe of Pain - The axe is always moaning and groaning with pain.

15. Bag of Faerie Gold - This sack appears to be full of gold coins and jewels. When one attempts to spend them, however, the glamour on them soon vanishes, revealing them to be nothing but leaves and pebbles. Obviously, most shopkeepers will not be happy about this, and no amount of 'we didn’t know, I swear!’ will change their mind.

16. Bag of Holding - This item functions as a normal backpack, however when attempting to retrieve an item, a calm female voice tells them there is a wait time of 4d10 minutes before they can retrieve their item (actual time is stated time plus 6d6 additional minutes). During this wait, the bag plays either annoying muzak or advertisements for the bag’s creator’s other products/services. Upon attempting to retrieve an item, there is a chance that the wrong item is retrieved, or that the intended item is simply missing. Obtaining the original item requires an additional 4d10+6d6 minutes and has only a 5% chance of success.

17. Bag of Trading - You can take one thing out of the bag for each object you put in the bag. However, you have no control over what you get, and there are no trade-backs. Past research seems to imply there’s some sort of correlation to what gets you what, but it’s extremely convoluted and far from understood.

18. Bag of Trick - This bag operates like a Bag of Tricks, except it only works once a week and produces a rat each time it is used.

19. Bag of Unholding - Quite a large backpack but even the smallest item doesn’t fit.

20. Bagpipe of Stealth - Grants the user invisibility as long as it is being played.

21. Ball of Eyes - A snow-globe filled with miniature eyeballs. When shaken, it grants the user a blurry, jittery vision of some future event.

22. Banana Walkie-Talkies - There exist two, and only two, of these items in the world. One of which is possessed by a cranky and lonely half-orc. It appears to be an innocuous wooden banana with a coat of faded yellow paint. When an end (doesn’t matter which one) is placed against your ear, you can hear a ringing followed by a click and a half-orc yelling at you for waking him up at this ungodly hour. If you drop the banana or “hang up,” the call ends. If you stay and listen, the half-orc will yell at you, call out obscenities, and start going on about his daily problems and mishaps in his love life. Every so often (2% chance/day), the banana will ring while you are sleeping and the half-orc will want to talk to you about his problems.

23. Barrel of Holding - This large wooden barrel measuring √(12/π) feet in diameter and 5 feet in height can hold up to 15 cubic feet of matter.

24. Beam Sword of Severed Nerves - A beam sword. It cannot cut anything but nerve strings. Will pass through any other material leaving no harm.

25. Belt of Pants - This belt creates illusory pants on the wearer. The wearer can suppress the illusion at will

26. Belt of Tightening - Every time you put this belt on, all of your clothes permanently shrink a fraction of a millimeter. The effect is compound.

27. Belt of Unbathed Breath - When worn around the waist, allows the user to breathe underwater. Does not function when wet.

28. Boogie Skeleton - This pile of bones is small, such as one that might be obtained from a bird or a toad, though it can look as though it came from any creature. When a song is sung or played in the vicinity of the skeleton, it begins to dance appropriately. As soon as the music stops, it collapses into the pile of bones again. The skeleton, when dancing, can be no larger than Diminutive.

29. Book of Canon - A book that automatically transforms into a copy of the sacred text of any religion, translated into the language the user is most familiar with.

30. Book of Confusion - The letters in this book always appear to be upside down, even if viewed from different directions at the same time. The book is a bad novel about zombies.

31. Book of Curses - When opened, the book verbally berates anyone in the immediate vicinity, calling into question their combat ability, intellect, personal hygiene, lineage and profession of their mothers, and other delightful insults. Once closed the book continues shouting (although it is muffled) until placed inside a bag or some other similar container for 1d4+1 minutes and ignored. Replying to the book in any other way causes the insults to get louder and more childish the more time you spend replying to it.

32. Book of Exalted Deeds - Contains a listing of some of the finest houses ever sold and the specifics of the titles to the properties.

33. Boots of Blinding Speed - The wearer’s speed is doubled, and they are blinded.

34. Boots of Levitation - These boots levitate a few inches off the ground when not worn.

35. Boots of Stylishness - Knee high black boots that are always clean and shiny. They never take in water, thus feet are always dry.

36. Boots of Teleportation - Allows the player to teleport wherever they like, but don’t carry the wearer with them when activated; the boots teleport just fine, though.

37. Boots of Walking - The wearer of the boots cannot run, nor can he take a double move action, and takes a -5 to Tumble checks. These boots are made for walkin’, and that’s just what they’ll do.

38. Bottle of Air - It’s a bottle. Full of air. Congratulations.

39. Bottomless Beer Mug - Any liquid poured into this mug treats the bottom as incorporeal, but solid objects don’t.

40. Bowl of Comfortable Warmth - Any liquid in the bowl will feel comfortably warm, so icy cold water will feel like it’s a bit over room temperature. Do note, however, that it’s still icy cold water, it just feels warmer.

50. Breastplate of Secret Detection - If the wearer of this breastplate gains a piece of information that is somehow connected to the concealment of a hidden conspiracy or plot, a live and still wet red herring forms on the inside of the armor.

51. Bullying Gloves - At random intervals, these gloves instil the wearer with a near-irresistible urge to hit themselves.

52. Bunyan’s Belt - When worn, causes an enormous, bushy black beard to appear on the wearer’s face.

53. Cape of Resistance - When this item is placed on any living thing it somehow manages to fall off, untie itself, slip past the owner’s neck entirely, or otherwise avoid being worn.

54. Case of the Litigator - Translates any document placed in the case into legal jargon; non-reversible. Does not confer the ability to understand legal jargon.

55. Cat of Schrodinger - When this cat is not being observed in any way it is both dead and alive. When something observes it, it suddenly becomes either dead or alive with a 50% chance of either.

56. Chair of Steadiness - This chair can be moved but cannot be tipped over by anything less than a DC 35 Strength check.

57. Charles - This small, unremarkable figurine of a gnome refuses to be called anything but Charles. No other name will leave the lips of the speaker. It has no other powers.

58. Chime of Interruption - This instrument can be struck once every round, which takes a standard action. On any round the chime is activated the user may ready one action without spending an action to do so.

59. Chime of Opening - Commonly affixed to or near doors, when pressed it emits a sound on the interior of the owner’s home to let them know guests have arrived.

60. Chime of Opening (Alternate) - When struck against a solid surface, this chime emits a loud click, and opens along its length, to reveal a tiny compartment adequate to conceal a single 'smoke’ worth of pipeweed or a blowgun needle. When the compartment is closed, it is seamless and can be detected only with a DC 20 Search check. If hit with an instrument such as a small mallet, it chimes.

61. Cloak of Billowing - This black and silver cloak will always billow dramatically behind the wearer, it has no other effects.

62. Cloak of Displacement, Minor - This item appears to be a normal cloak, but when worn by a character its magical properties distort and warp reality. When any attack is made against the wearer the cloak has a 20% chance of falling off, no matter how it is secured.

63. Compacting hammer - The force imparted by it is multiplied, but is spread around the surface of a struck object facing inward.

64. Cymbal of Symbols - This musical instrument enables the user to comprehend dead languages, but only while they are deafened by noise.

65. Dagger of Told Secrets - A simple-looking dagger. If used to backstab someone to death, it will whisper your most embarrassing secret to that person.

66. Dagger of unnatural sharpness - The blade is exceptionally sharp to your touch. It confers no combat bonuses but can be used as a normal dagger for fighting or crafting, but the user seems to always cut himself in minor ways when using it.

67. Dagger of Untold Secrets - A simple looking dagger. If used to backstab someone to death, it will whisper the most embarrassing secret of that person to you.

68. Decanter of Endless Sorrow - A pewter flask that produces limitless alcohol when held to their lips by someone who is troubled. It gets them drunk but they never feel any better.

69. Diadem of Brothaurity - When wearing this headpiece, you are as elegant and well-spoken as a famous diplomat or regent, but you can’t stop calling everyone bro.

70. Enchanted Book of Collected Stories - Opening this will cause miniature creatures/people to pour out and perform a chapter from the book much like a theater.

71. Focusing Ring - The digit on which this ring is worn can be viewed in extremely high definition from a great distance.

72. Gloves of Tinkering - Wearing the gloves will make you able to almost repair any broken item. However, you will always end up with pieces from the item that don’t seem to fit anywhere.

73. Glowing sword of orc detection - When it gets orc blood on it the sword glows.

74. Good Luck ring - Gives your enemies good luck!

75. Greater Staff of Random Summoning - Summons a random creature at a random place. You could be summoning a giant Ogre on the other side of the globe for all you know.

76. Helm of Awareness, The - The wearer is acutely aware of the fact that they are wearing this helmet and that it has a magical effect. - All you need to do to make this work as a DM is frequently remind the player that the helm is magical while they are wearing it but be evasive about exactly what it does.

77. Hoarder’s Wand - Does nothing but for some reason you think it might be important later in your quest.

78. Hood of Offensive Facades - This hood will change your identity in the eyes of others to the appearance of the person they most personally dislike.

79. Hood Of Worrisome Facades - This hood will change your identity in the eyes of others, however the identity used will be random.

80. Indestructible Notebook of Memories - This otherwise normal notepad of normal notepad size cannot be damaged or destroyed, and anything written in it cannot be obscured or defaced. It also has unlimited pages despite its finite size. However, the data it holds only lasts as long as the writer independently remembers it, and decays in exact proportion to the relevant memories. Remember who and when, but not where? Then the words describing the location in that particular entry are the only ones gone.

81. Intransigent Rod - When the button on this artifact is pressed in, the holder’s opinions solidify and they become impossible to convince.

82. Key to anywhere - opens any door into a closet with a water bucket that falls and hits the player’s head. Inside this closet is the treasure of true adventurers. If opened with a key, it opens a closet…

83. Lunch Box of Delicious Unfulfillment - This lunch box will hold whatever food you desire. However you will never get full and the food will deliver no nourishment.

84. Mask of Concealment - Hides the wearer’s face and conceals everything from them by blocking their eyes! Bonus points for requiring a strength check or a time limit to expire to be removed.

85. Mattress of Poverty, The - No matter how you fluff this gorgeous, thick, mattress, you will always sleep on the thin part of it.

86. Mug O’ Dissatisfaction - A mug that always produces a steaming hot cup of coffee or tea when tapped on the bottom. It conjures the opposite of what the tapper prefers, so if you like tea you get coffee and vice versa. Handing the full mug to another person will make the drink in it transform to the opposite of that person’s preferences.

87. Murder Dagger - All damage it would deal is instead replaced by the target being harassed by crows for that many hours.

88. Needle Of Learned Compromise - This needle will create beautiful tattoos of any design, however they hurt a tiny bit more. When used to sew it is entirely normal.

89. Portable Dark Tavern Corner - Consisting of two wooden boards connected by a hinge, this artifact draws those nearby into assuming it is a perfect spot to conduct seedy business.

90. Potion of fire breathing - For the length of time that the potion is in effect, every breath out is on fire, whether you want it to be or not.

91. Potion of Quelchment - Cures thirst when consumed

92. Ring of Fire Detection - becomes warm when placed into Fire.

93. Ring of First Impression - Wearing the ring will make you able to perform a perfect handshake with the hand wearing it.

94. Ring of Stoneskin - Turns your skin, muscles, and organs into stone! Character is now a stationary statue. Can’t be reversed until someone takes the ring off.

95. Rope of Entanglement - Becomes entangled when left in a pack

96. Sack of Hive Eggs - Crushing one of the numerous tiny eggs will cause the thoughts of everybody in the proximity to merge. Everybody can hear what you think and you can hear everybody.

97. Shirt of fire protection - this shirt is sopping wet.

98. Shoes of the Restless Traveler - These shoes allow their user to run for miles without feeling fatigue, but if they try to do anything else with it (walk, sit down, jump), they will instantly trip

99. Sword of Parrying - Parries every attack, swinging it yourself will force it to “parry” your opponent’s weapon/attack even though he/she/it is defenseless.

100. Torch of Night Vision - grants bearer Night Vision while lit.

101. Vorpal Grindstone - It can “sharpen” any object to become vorpal. Any object.

102. Wand of command - Lets your character be controlled after saying the command word!

103. Wand of Create Wand of Create Wand - Creates a Wand of Create Wand. Consumes original Wand.

104. Wand of Pigeon Summoning - summons 1d20 pigeons everyday. On a 20 it breaks and summons a giant pigeon god (can be the size of Godzilla or like 5 pigeons.) Giant pigeon god should be in the mid 20s for CR, but is uninterested in attacking, and will simply fly away when summoned.

105. Water Hat, The - A small red hat, when worn, causes water to pour from the wearer’s fingers at the speed and pressure of a kitchen faucet at half power.

106. Wineskin of the Eternal Primary - This wineskin never runs out of water, but even the tiniest sip makes you have to go potty, like, super bad. Right now.

[hoelex0513love]

★布農族Bunun

Biung(比勇)

海皮斯鳥/癩蛤蟆

Haipis bird/The toad "Kukulpa"

Abus阿不思

霧鹿部落/八部合音/洪水傳說

Bulbul tribe/Eight-part polyphony/Flooding legend

感動天神的歌聲/祈禱小米豐收歌Pasibutbut

The praise of God/Pasibutbut song

從許多文獻的記載中，在日治時代依然可以看到布農族使用的樂器約有十來種。例如：弓琴、口簧琴、木杵、臼（木製）、竹琴、鼻笛、五弦琴等等。布農族對樂器的認知，清代文獻稱為武崙族，台灣原住民的一個族群，主要居住在海拔1500公尺以上的高山上，現在的人口約五萬餘人。

From the records of many documents, about ten kinds of musical instruments used by Bunun people can still be seen in the era of Japanese rule. For example: bow piano, harp, wood pestle, mortar (wooden), bamboo piano, nose flute, ukulele and so on. The Bunun cognition of musical instruments is called the Wulun tribe in the Qing Dynasty. It is an ethnic group of Taiwan's aborigines. They mainly live on high mountains above 1500 meters above sea level, and now have about 50,000 people.

★國際版連結:

https://www.behance.net/…/twaomas-Story-Taiwan-Aboriginal-S…

★【塔哇歐瑪司｜twa'omas トワオマス台灣風味原住民Taiwan Aboriginal Story】16族

角色民族服裝創作/心夢展覽授權合作By Hoelex浩理斯

★【連結】http://hoelex513.pixnet.net/blog/post/342489991

#hoelex

#浩理斯

#AlicemisA

#心夢品牌

#twaomas

#塔哇歐瑪司

#トワオマス

#台灣風味原住民

#台灣

#Taiwan

#Aboriginal

#Story

#寶島

#人文

#歷史

#文化

#品牌藝術家

#BrandArtist

#布農族

#Bunun

#比勇

#Biung

#阿��思

#Abus

#海皮斯鳥

#癩蛤蟆

#洪水傳說

#八部合音

[longforgottenunofficial]

The Séance Circle Part Two: Davenports, Cabinets, and Other Furnishings

There's obviously a significant gap between the aquatic critters and bat-winged cats flying around St. Anthony's head in an old painting reproduced in an old book on the one hand and a Marc Davis concept sketch for the Haunted Mansion Séance Circle on the other, and there's another gap between that sketch and what eventually was built into the ride.  By now, that's what we've come to expect around here.  In many cases, the gaps are such that you can't recognize any traces of the original inspiration in the finished product. Not here.  Davis's squiddly creatures and airborne felines notwithstanding, for the most part the Séance Circle is the place in the Mansion where the line between source material and finished product is the thinnest.  At times, the Imagineers merely reproduced an effect directly. Hey, I wonder where they got the idea of hanging a bell by thin wires so it could float around overhead?

Call me crazy, but I think that possibly they got the idea from séances where a bell was suspended by thin wires so it could float overhead.

Our sources are 19th and early 20th century séances and ghost shows, of course.  The period from about the 1850's to the 1920's was the heyday for mediums, spiritualists, and "spirit photography," as well as a heyday for theatrical and parlor magic shows—not coincidentally.  It's hardly worth the trouble, for our purposes, to try to sort out the tangled continuum between real, sincere spiritualists and real, sincere attempts to contact the dead via séances at one end of the spectrum and openly-stated illusioneering for entertainment purposes by stage magicians (in the David Copperfield sense of the word) at the other end.  There were those, and there was also everything in between.  You had fraudulent mediums who insisted they were genuine even while admitting to using tricks now and then, and you had stage magicians who flatly denied they were mediums but also claimed that the ghosts they produced onstage were real.  Harry Houdini was a famous skeptic and used his knowledge and expertise in professional stage magic to debunk spiritualists and mediums.  These efforts did nothing to keep some people from believing Houdini was himself gifted with psychic powers.  The blurring of lines makes sense if you think about it, since a good fraudulent medium is almost by definition a good illusioneer, a good magician. Some of the Haunted Mansion Imagineers were card-carrying magicians (Yale Gracey and Rolly Crump), with a natural interest in all of that stuff.  Is it really a surprise that apart from the spectacular Madame Leota effect (which nevertheless may owe something to 19th c. magicians like Harry Kellar), the main difference between the HM séance and a "real" 19th-early 20th c. séance is the fact that one is an honest fake while the other is a dishonest fake?  Otherwise, they're both going about the same business: creating realistic-looking spiritualistic effects that could fool a gullible soul under the right circumstances.  In fact, the HM version is historically realistic enough to require some annotation.  And that's our job. Begin with the ectoplasm ball floating around behind Madame L.

(pic by Jeff Fillmore, SCL photography)

Ectoplasm was commonly produced at séances, usually manifested as a white-ish substance oozing from somewhere on the medium's body.  In photos it looks suspiciously like chewed up gauze or paper, and even if you're a true believer, those photos are embarrassments.  Real eye-rolling stuff.  There's some ecto on the face of the medium in that earlier photo.  In "spirit photography," you sometimes saw ectoplasm leaving glowing trails.  Not much different than the Disneyland version, really, even if they couldn't figure out how they wanted to spell "ectoplasm" on the Effects blueprints.

Even when the Disneyland version started making faces at guests early in 2006, they weren't departing from tradition, since faces often appeared in clouds of ectoplasm at the "real thing."

The Davenport Brothers

So far we've been talking about the 19th-early 20th c. phenomena in general.  If there was a specific historical inspiration for the HM Séance Circle, it was the stage act put on by the Davenport brothers.  These are the guys who disclaimed being mediums while suggesting that the ghosts were real.  They started in the 1850's and were a very big act throughout the '60's.  It all came to an end when one of the brothers died unexpectedly in the 70's.

What they really were were top-notch escape artists and illusioneers, with an excellent staff of assistants who never got caught and never blabbed.  The Davenports would be tied up good and tight, and then as soon as the lights went out musical intruments started flying around and ghostly hands and arms appeared, touching people and scaring 'em good.  On with the lights, and there are the D bros, still tied up. They invented the "spirit cabinet" for their act.  It was a large cabinet in which they both sat, all tied up, sometimes with an audience member sitting between them.  After the lights went out, the usual levitations and creepy manifestations followed.

It didn't take long for professional mediums to recognize the advantages of having a large cabinet to work with.  The "spirit cabinet" very quickly became a standard fixture at séances.  With perfectly straight faces the mediums spoke of the cabinet as a kind of "spiritual storage battery."  Seriously.  Most often, the "cabinet" was not a wooden chest but a tent or a booth in the corner of the room.  The medium might sit in it or at its entrance or in front of it, while spirit manifestations appeared in front of the cabinet.

"And look how fast that button spins when I pull these back and forth!"

Wow, how do they do that?

Okay, nevermind.

It's easy to make fun of these phonies and the people taken in by such simple tricks, but many of these mediums were highly skilled magicians in their own right.  It takes practice.  I mean, how many people can control their urine stream like this?

Spirit cabinets are present at the Haunted Mansion séance, although it's doubtful if many guests recognize them for what they are. Both types can be seen behind Madame Leota.

It originally looked more like this under show conditions, of course:

As previously noted, the Séance room in the Haunted Mansion is yet another idea that goes all the way back to Ken Anderson, and if I'm reading this sketch correctly, the novel idea that the medium is herself a ghost is also his.  Notice that she is emerging from a spirit cabinet, already in this early concept artwork.

Just like the real thing.

Or the real real thing.

Hat tip to Craig Conley.  From Puck magazine (1884), perhaps a political cartoon

But getting back to the Davenport brothers, we know about them mostly from written accounts, of course, and one famous description of their act appeared in the London Post.  Compare the description of the musical instruments at a Davenport show with what we find in that earlier Davis sketch and in the inner circle of the actual attraction.

Floating tables, even high-flying, large tables, are nothing new to séances.

"Great Caesar's ghost, look at all the old gum wads!"

Marc may have wanted flying animals, but I think even he realized that furniture and musical instruments were more authentic.  He still couldn't resist throwing in a cat, though.

The musical instruments are the more interesting feature.  Madame Leota refers to most of them in her incantations, as you can see right there in her open spellbook . . .

. . . or hear isolated in this sound file:

Leota's Incantations in the Ride [Audio Link]

That gives us a bell and a tambourine.  For the horn, drum, and some kind of stringed instrument, we have to cite two incantations that were recorded but never used. Leota's Incantations Never Used [Audio Link]

Horned toads and lizards, fiddle and strum, Please answer the roll by beating a drum. Harpies and Furies, old friends and new, Blow on a horn, so we'll know that it's you. No one knows why these weren't used.  It could be something as simple as a head movement during filming that misaligned the face at that point. If you examine the instruments in the posters for the Davenport brothers, you'll see four kinds, the now-familiar horn, tambourine, and bell, plus something to "fiddle and strum," a guitar.  It doesn't take much thought to see why the guitar wasn't kept for the HM séance.  That instrument has undergone a complete reinvention in popular imagination since the 19th century and now has utterly different connotations.  It is no longer even remotely associated with the exotic or the quaint. Oddies and Endies, out of the past, come to us now, and we'll deal with you last. We've noted the connections between the Séance Circle and its historical sources; now it's time to wrap up a few curious odds and ends. Madame Leota's wooden spirit cabinet originally served a very practical purpose.  It was going to house the projector that produces her face.  Back then, she was going to face in the opposite direction.  You would see her face as you enter the room and swing around behind her.  This was the plan up until three or four months before the Mansion opened, at most.  It was probably ditched because you wouldn't be able to prevent people from seeing the projector at some point as they went by. Looking at the outer ring of floating objects, here are some random observations.  The wicker table is part of a set, and other pieces from the same set have been kicking around in the Attic for years and years.  The banner on the longhorn says "X = ?"  I think it's a sly tribute to X. Atencio, or maybe they're teasing him ("X? What the heck kind of name is 'X' anyway?").  The gong was originally going to be a cluster of three bells.  Oh, and you know that floating candelabra back in the Endless Hallway?  It was originally supposed to be here in the Séance Circle. The second drum has been missing at Disneyland for a long time.  The last time it was certainly seen was in 1991.

Perhaps it will show up on eBay some day.

Forget about the Phantom Drummer of Tedworth; what's the phantom drum overhead worth?

Originally Posted: Monday, August 9, 2010 Original Link: [x]