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Original Title: [Suisei no Gargantia] You pilot an eight-meter antigravity-propelled mecha which reacts at the speed of thought and can operate any weapon devised by humankind. Your Machine Caliber is the ultimate product of 4000 years of armored warfare. Your life expectancy is less than two minutes.

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Artist: Tarakan | twitter | danbooru

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Summary via ChatGPT

A Delaware judge invalidated Elon Musk's $56 billion Tesla pay package for a second time, citing undue influence and unfair terms set by Musk. Despite shareholder approval earlier this year, the court ruled the process failed to address governance concerns and transparency. The judge emphasized the board's failure to prove the compensation plan's fairness, suggesting alternative, reasonable payment options were possible. Tesla may appeal the decision or propose a new compensation plan.

Stolen from here: https://social.marxist.network/@yogthos/113583918563324620

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So, I'm running the original 3e version of Forge of Fury, and my players are about to meet Idalla, the succubus. In the 3e version of the dungeon, Idalla is bound to the room, and just wants to leave. If she's attacked by a Good aligned character, she is free to leave... for some reason. Or, if she's granted permission from a Good aligned character, she's also free to leave.

I'm not at all sure how to run this. I foresee her explaining to the party that she's been magically bound to the room, and that the spell is broken just by giving permission, and then the party just... does. And she teleports away.

That seems totally pointless.

I really like the idea of there being a powerful being trapped in this room, though. It serves my purpose to have some sort of unexpected guardian in this space, and a filter that allows Good aligned characters through is really convenient in its own right.

Clearly, the solution is how I play the character, then, but I just cannot get myself inside her head. How do I make this interesting, and last longer than a single back-and-forth verbal exchange? The module gives her only real goal as being to leave, and I don't have a reasonable, interesting alternative.

Have you run this module before? How have you handled Idalla?

I'm relatively new to using Matrix, so far I've given Element and Fluffy Chat a try. I've preferred Fluffy Chat so far, I dunno it kinda just seems more reliable and I like the mobile app, but I was wondering if there's any others that are worth checking out. I mainly use Linux, Windows, and iOS.

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/RangerFrank on 2024-12-02 17:51:13+00:00.

---

Cover|Vol.1|Previous|Next|Maps|Wiki+Discord|Royal Road|WebNovel|Tapas|Ko-Fi|Fandom/wik

So...where was I last week? If you haven't joined Discord, this is an excellent time to remind you join to keep up to date on all news. But TLDR: I seriously hurt my back while moving things, I still have a deadline to get an entire garage cleared out, my back still hurts, the holidays are here, I'm stressing over the Kickstarter and volume 1, and I shaved my head. The last one doesn't matter, but it just shows where I am currently, so I took my Thanksgiving break early. Either way, I'm back now, and I'll be going all the way until the 22nd. Thanks for your understanding.

---

To think my most powerful spell would be countered so easily…what the hell is this monster?

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.

I felt the guilt of my failure weighing down on me along with the encroaching mana sickness as the city bells rang, singling the mark of a counterattack that would see us charging into the field. My spell had done more damage than all the undead force combined. The city was now open to the undead horde, and I undoubtedly killed many people and sealed the fates of countless others.

Even though I wanted to lament my failures, I didn’t have the luxury of doing so. I was on a battlefield, and with my mana so low from two Railgun shots, all I could do was maintain body enhancement for the time being and defend myself. Any other attempts at large-scale magic from me would see me risk dying.

And we had a small team of elite undead riding straight toward us. How could a single Lich raise five of them in an instant? Shouldn’t Dullahans and Liches be similar? Or have we always been wrong, and Liches were always the superior undead?

My thoughts were called back to attention by another shout from Lord Vasquez. “Nothing changes! Continue the offensive! Make openings for Cerila to finish off the undead!” he ordered.

It was five versus five, and we met the charging Dullahans straight on. I watched Cerila use her ice magic as a spear, which impaled the first rider’s ram straight through its body. I also had the same idea, so I firmly planted my spear into the ground and braced my fist.

The rider tried to avoid it, but the monstrous ram moved too quickly. And even though it managed to jump, I thrust my spear into its midsection. I wanted to try and toss the undead, but my arms shook from the impact as it felt like I had been hit by a moving truck.

I grit my teeth but was forced to back away, removing my spear from its body. The rider regained control, and the undead ram scratched its front leg on the ground before charging at me again. The Dullahan brought its large black sword down and planned to use it as a lance. Even if I did the same maneuver again, the sword would hit me before I stopped the monster’s charge.

I dodged to the side, barely avoiding the slash of the blade. It was frustrating. If I had more mana, I could quickly dismount the Dullahan using earth magic. But I would be in trouble if I ran out and had nothing left to fight the Dullahan itself.

Well, I suppose it’s time to use some of these. I was holding onto them for a rainy day.

The Dullahan charged me again, and I waited for the last moment where I could dodge. The Dullahan was much faster and anticipated my movements; its blade swept across my breastplate, but that was all it did. From my Spatial Ring, I summoned a glass ball and tossed it on the monster’s side.

I used a minuscule amount of mana and put it into one of the most basic spells, one of the first fire spells I had ever learned. I released Scorch, and a tiny burst of flames shot out of the tip of my spear. The flames themselves were incredibly weak, and if I were fighting a person, I would be lucky to singe their hair, let alone burn them in any meaningful way.

But the violent concoction from the Alchemical Firebombs only needed a tiny spark.

Boom.

As the ram turned to orientate itself for another charge, my spell lit the substance, and it exploded into a fireball. Being that close to an explosion made my ears ring, but the effect was immediate. I averted my face as bone shrapnel pelted me. When the smoke faded, the Dullahan’s mount was reduced to a scattering of random bones.

The Dullhuan itself was also not unscathed. I had taken the entirety of its left leg armor off and severely damaged the left torso and arm section. White bone shone through the mangled armor, but other than that, the Dullahan was already regenerating the severe damage. But that was fine. I only needed to tie the creature down until Cerila could finish it off.

Or at least, that was the plan.

Boom.

Boom.

I tossed myself to the side and ran full speed to dodge the incoming magic. I managed to dodge the first strike, which was a giant tendril of plants, but the Ice Spears that impacted the ground knocked me off my feet and sent me rolling across the ground. There was no moment of respite as I brought my spear up just in time to block the Dullahan’s sword.

The strike held immense power, but I honestly expected more. Perhaps because it was a freshly risen undead, it still hadn’t had time to maximize its power. I stood up and used the momentum to knock the blade up, but the Dullahan surprisingly stepped into me. It must have understood it couldn’t let me gain distance to use my spear as it pressed a relentless attack against me.

I blocked and parried its blade, but I struggled with it without using magic to increase the gap. I also couldn’t put more mana into my body enhancement to get me away quicker. Any attempt to retreat was met with an immediate aggressive response. The monster never tired, and every strike kept the same intensity as the first.

Even so, I was holding my own. I had blocked every single attack, and my counters were connecting. But unlike a living opponent, it didn’t matter how often I struck at it. Every time my spear pierced its armor, there was no sensation of ripping into flesh, and it did little to slow it down. Also, one of the most significant weaknesses of the undead, its head, wasn’t present. If I could at least hit that, I could disable it for a few moments.

But Dullahans are supposed to have heads…even if they can be detached at will, there should be a head somewhere.

I blocked a thrust and diverted the strike to my side. I planned on bashing the Dullahan’s exposed leg, but I heard a sudden set of running footsteps behind me.

“Duck!” Professor Garrison shouted.

I dropped to the ground and watched Professor Garrison’s sword swing over me. The Dullahan blocked it from the side, but the sheer force of the strike blew the Dullahan backward.

“Thanks for the assist…”I said.

“No problem. Let’s handle these things and get to that giant before things get even worse,” Professor Garrison said as he glared at the giant monstrosity.

The undead giant was constantly firing off magic toward the wall and into the group of defenders that remained. The Gryphon Knights were keeping its attention, but they were purely defensive. They couldn’t get past the anti-magic, let alone dodge all the spells the giant was launching at them. And even though more riders had been dispatched from Curia, they still suffered heavy losses.

I saw Cerila, who now had Mom at her side. The two of them were overwhelming their Dullahan, so it would only be a matter of time before we had the advantage here. Back on our side, the Dullahan pressed its attack. Professor Garrison met it head-on with his sword, and the two exchanged blows.

I came in from the sides and did considerable damage to it. My second spear thrust hit right at the elbow joint, ripping through the remaining armor and separating its left arm. The Dullahan slashed across its body in protest, but Professor Garrison gave it a swift kick to the exposed leg.

The Dullahan crumbled from the blow, and I sent my spear directly down its headless neck and into its torso. But I felt something odd. There was a weird amount of resistance that shouldn’t be there, and when I hit it, the orange flames that sprouted from the armor ceased.

“The Dullahans’ heads are in their chest! Aim for the center breastplate!” I shouted to anyone who could hear me.

With the help of Professor Garrison, the two of us brutally hacked the Dullahan to pieces. We tore its armor off, scattered its bones away, and kicked its limbs elsewhere. All the while, the monster was trying to regenerate itself, but once we ripped the chest plate off and removed the cracked head, I reared back to toss it.

Cerila and Mom had already finished their Dullahan off and were running over to assist us. Cerila’s eyes lit up, and she brought her sword back as I tossed the head. In mid-flight, the Dullahan’s eyes lit up with an orange glow, but Cerila cut ...

---

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---

Previous

First | Series Index | Website (for links)

++++++++++++++++++++++++

11 Underground I

Content Warning

Chapter includes depiction of self-harm that could be disturbing to some people.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

Grantor City Outskirts, Grantor-3

POV: Guinspiu, Granti (Head Councilor)

Guinspiu admired the camouflage netting the trio of Terran operators had thrown over their landing shuttle as they began to unload their equipment with a fancy-looking cart. The netting itself was made of some kind of digital fabric that transmitted image from one side of it to another, hiding what’s underneath in a semi-invisible cloak. Up close, she could see there was something there… like a haze. But from far away, there was no way anyone would be able to visually spot it, especially not with the patch of trees behind it breaking its silhouette.

She noticed something that looked familiar on the cart and called Mark’s attention. “Hey, isn’t that one of our object fabricators?”

He took off his armor’s helmet and wiped a bead of sweat off his brow. “Is it? Probably. We appropriated a lot of technology from you and the Malgeir a while ago.”

“What did we bring that for?” she asked as he began to drink from a straw in his suit.

Mark gulped twice to swallow the water. “For your people.”

“My people?”

“Yeah, your people,” he repeated. “What? You think we’re just going to leave your people down here to rot and ignore them while we beat the Znosians ourselves? Just the three of us?”

“You’re going to— to— to fabricate and print things for us?” she asked, still puzzled.

“Yeah, that’s… why we brought one of those. What else would you need one of those for?”

“But what are you making? My people here need food. They need safety.”

“We have plans for that too, High Councilor, but no, your people don’t need safety,” Mark said, shaking his head lightly. “Your people need to fight back.”

“With what? Our claws? Oh…” she came to a sudden realization. “You’ve brought those to make us guns.”

“Guns?” Mark chuckled dryly. “Please, High Councilor. You’ve been watching too many of our movies.”

“Huh?”

“Contrary to popular opinion, guns don’t win insurgencies on their own, High Councilor. Not most of the time. How many guns do you think we can make with a portable printer every month? How do we get them to people? And what munitions do they fire? Are we going to be starting a local firearms and munitions manufacturing industry here with a single printer?”

“I guess not… So what are you making?”

Mark put his armor helmet back on, securing it fully. “Replacements for our gear, mostly. A few radios, probably, until we can find something better.”

“What about my people? You said they have to fight back. What weapons will my people use?”

“Weapons? I know somewhere you can find weapons. Right here on Grantor. No complicated or additional manufacturing necessary.”

“Where?” Guinspiu asked excitedly.

“We’re on an occupied planet with millions of Znosian troops, High Councilor. I imagine it wouldn’t be too hard to find the weapons we need. The real question is how many fighters we can find to use them.” Mark smiled inside his helmet, continuing, “This almost reminds me of the good old days of the TRO.”

“The good old days of the TRO?” she asked.

“Yeah, pre-Republic. Before the Clark Committee abuse scandals hearings, before the reforms. Before my time.”

“Huh. Yeah. You guys never talk about that. What did your organization do before you found all of us aliens in space?”

“Nothing nice. You’ll see, High Councilor. You’ll see.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++

Grantor City Work Camp 6, Grantor-3

POV: Torsad, Granti (Prisoner)

Torsad massaged her sore paws as she stirred the Grass Eater hatchling nutrient vat in front of her with a long stick, the hot acid fumes in it reaching up to sting her eyes without protection. The strip of cloth she wrapped around her paws barely protected her from the foul-smelling orange liquid.

She blinked and then coughed… away from the vat, knowing what the consequences would be if she hadn’t. At merely thirty years old, she had taken on the wrinkles and appearance of a much older Granti female.

As Torsad turned to the side, she saw her old neighbor next to her, Sossui, having a similar issue. He was having a much harder time with the Znosian occupation. With the official cutting of all meat supply, she knew Sossui hadn’t been able to secure protein in secret. Besides his gaunt appearance, he was slowly going blind from the lack of nutrition. That was happening to a lot of people.

As she turned back to continue to stir her own vat, she heard a series of hard coughs, and then clattering followed by quiet swearing next to her.

She looked over. Sossui was standing on his tippy paws peering into his bubbling vat with despair in his half-blind eyes. He whispered at her, “My— my stirring stick… it fell… oh… Oh no.”

Torsad looked around. Hopefully none of the Grass Eater supervisors saw—

“What’s going on over here?” a rough voice yelled. “Why aren’t you working, lazy predator?”

No such luck.

“I apologize, Three Whiskers,” Sossui said, bowing almost as low as the supervisor’s stature. “My— my stirring stick— it fell in.”

“You what?!” the three whiskers screeched. She jabbed his leg with a buzzing baton, activating it as she did. “Whose fault is it?”

Bzzzzzzt.

“Owwww! Three Whiskers Pukhat, please,” Sossui whimpered in pain. “I take full responsibility for— for the mistake— for my mistake and— and my weakness.”

“You better! Now you are responsible for fixing it,” Pukhat said, glaring at him. “Go get it!”

“How?”

“How?!” Pukhat exclaimed. “Reach in with your paws and grab it!”

“But— but it’s hatchling nutrient liquid,” he whined.

Torsad watched the exchange, knowing what happened to the last prisoner who reached into one of these vats when they were being processed. A heartbeat, and the corrosive orange liquid would burn off all your fur. A couple more seconds, and your paw was good as gone.

Pukhat was not having it. She jabbed Sossui again with her shock stick.

Bzzzzzzzzzzzt.

Sossui cried, falling down in convulsions.

“You idiot! This isn’t the Navy. We don’t just have extra equipment lying around! And I’m not taking responsibility for your error! So either you go in and grab it, or I’ll have you replaced with someone who will.”

Torsad quickly looked back at her vat, stirring as hard as she could, as all of the rest of the row did. There were no volunteers in this camp. Volunteers did not live long.

“Okay! Okay! I’ll get it,” Sossui moaned as he crawled on the ground. “I’ll get it, Three Whiskers.”

“Good,” Pukhat said. She pulled up a stool next to his vat helpfully. “Here, stand on this.”

Sossui climbed onto the stool. He looked over at the rest of the row, most of which had stopped stirring again to look at the unfolding drama now that they knew they weren’t in danger of being volunteered to lose their paws. He gave them all a weak smile with his cloudy eyes. “I’ll get it,” he said, more confidently.

“Use both paws,” Pukhat advised. “In case you lose your grip with one.”

Sossui nodded at her. “I take full responsibility for this, Three Whiskers.”

“Yes. You already did,” Pukhat said, a puzzled expression forming on her face. “Now you just have to— What are you— no!”

Sossui looked into the vat, took a deep breath, and then hopped in headfirst. The vat sizzled for a couple seconds. There was a brief moment of liquid thrashing in it, and then the vat went silent.

“Oh! Great! Just great! Another stupid jumper!” Pukhat screamed at the vat. “That’s the fourth one of you idiots this month!”

She stepped up onto the stool, peering into the vat herself. She stepped back and glanced at the instruments embedded into its side. “Hm… at least the vat’s still good. Still within margin… But we’re down a stirring stick today.”

Pukhat looked up and around, her eyes sweeping the unfortunate workers before her gaze settled straight at Torsad. “You, get over here. Hey, you, prisoner number thirteen. Come grab the stirring stick.”

“Me?” Torsad squeaked as she heard her number called.

“Yes, you! Who else? Come here. I saw the stick almost at the surface when I looked in,” Pukhat said. “If you grab it quick with both paws, you should be able to hold onto it. And you might even keep one of your paws if you’re lucky!”

Torsad paled. “But— but I didn’t drop my stick in the vat!”

“Am I hearing an argument from you, prisoner?” the three whiskers asked dangerously, approaching her with her baton.

“But— but I didn’t do it. Why am I—”

“Wrong answer.”

Bzzzzzzt.

Torsad felt her vision go white from the pain as she collapsed onto the ground, screaming, “Ahhhhh!”

As she recovered, Pukhat muttered, “And now you’ll do it. You Slow Predators never learn. Always have to teach multiple times.”

“No, please,” Torsad begged, shaking her head. “Three Whiskers—”

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt.

The pain was much more acute this time. Torsad felt like her leg was going to fall off as she crawled on the floor, struggling to get up.

“Pick up the stick, predator.”

“Okay, okay, Three Whiskers, I’ll do it,” Torsad wheezed as she massaged her legs.

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? Two sho...

---

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Quetzhal on 2024-12-02 16:03:22+00:00.

---

Book 2 | Prev | Next

The moment Guard yells it out, I see it. I almost curse myself for not seeing it before—it's not like I didn't see the Firmament flowing between them. But it looked entirely random. I'd assumed they were automatic exchanges of Firmament that occured because the ghosts were too close to one another, not that they were intentionally recreating a circuit.

By the time he warns me, though, it's too late for me to stop it. I pour on every defensive skill I can. This is the fourth wave—their power has been doubled four times over. Each rank is a doubling in power. They started at Rank E, and now they're at Rank B.

That wouldn't be a problem if there weren't so many of them, and if the skill they were using wasn't...

I hiss at the feeling of it.

This is a group cast. It's a skill generated by at least a hundred Rank B monsters working in concert. The skill they're using isn't Rank B; it doesn't match their rank at all.

My mind reaches out, touches on whatever I used before, whatever a Thread is. This time, it's a little more exhausting to force—I'm straining something within me to do it, reaching out with a part of myself I haven't had any practice with.

But I manage it. A split second of that trance, a split second of it interacting with my skills. 

[You have touched a Thread.]

And Inspect burns in the forefront, growing brighter.

[Your mastery of Inspect has improved!]

Information floods into my mind.

Rank S. Minimum.

Death Fog.

Even after that, Inspect just... keeps going. It feeds me more. I'm forced to close my eyes just to process the information it's pouring into me.

Death Fog is a Rank S Firmament skill that was created on the planet of Estat, 2,901 Trial cycles ago. Estat's Heart was exactly what you'd expect for a place that produced such a skill—it held the concept of Death, and so was populated by a multitude of different species of undead.

A vision flashes into my mind. I see a full, bustling civilization, but it's nothing like what I might have expected a planet of undead to look like. The cities are brightly lit, and the buildings within them are a chaotic mess of conflicting architectures. I catch a glimpse of glass-sculpture homes and spray painted huts occupying the same street, along with massive monuments to art and history.

I see flower stands. Little bakeries. Tiny communities dedicated, surprisingly, to the preservation of life—and nearby, secondary communities to welcome them into death, once they reach their natural ends.

Life and death in harmony. Huh.

All of this is far, far more information than Inspect has ever given me about a specific skill. It's more information than Inspect has ever given me about potential skills. Planetary history aside, Estat's Heart and the concept it held was originally simple: not a cessation of life, but a continuation after life.

But the Trialgoer on Estat...

He hadn't understood that.

The Thread resonates.

That's the thing about the Interface and its Integration of planetary Hearts. A Trialgoer's understanding of a concept warps the Heart, and the Heart warps the skills that go into the Interface. His Trial had been designed to make him see all the inhabitants of Estat as monsters. He'd come from a world where the undead were evil—a sign of the workings of demons, or some cultural equivalent.

And the objective of his Trial had been simple: Slaughter. They were monsters that claimed the civilization that lived on that planet, he was told. He didn't question. He just... went with it.

And so Death Fog emerged as his first Rank S skill. It created the first crack in Estat's Heart. Allowed the Interface to begin its infestation and integration.

I think, for the first time, I'm starting to understand the role the Interface plays in all this, and while the Integrators are certainly abusing it for their own ends...

The Interface isn't some force for good, either.

It's interesting that Inspect is telling me that. It's intentional, too. It... what, noticed an opportunity? The skill feels almost like my other skills did, back when they were protecting me from the impact of my double-layer shift—like it's gained some modicum of intelligence. Not a lot of it, but enough for it to try to help me on its own.

There's another thing Inspect is telling me, in concert with Premonition: I cannot counter this. Not as I am. My skills are based on physical defense. Firmament Control can blunt the force of it, but it won't stop the Firmament from touching me and seeping into me. I can use the Knight, but there isn't enough time for the transformation. Distorted Crux won't affect the speed of the Firmament. It'll just pass through Barrier.

Phaseslip will make it physical, and allow me some measure of resistance, but not enough.

Field of Immortality would work, but only sort of. It runs parallel to Death Fog. Our bodies would decay, but we would remain alive.

I'm out of options. I flick through my options. If I run, it'll leave Guard and Novi to its ravages, and that isn't acceptable—

"Ethan!" Guard calls, and my gaze snaps to him. My eyes widen.

Inspect supplies to me exactly what he's doing.

Rank S. Breath of Life.

A skill he'd... created? Inspect tells me that this skill is new, that He-Who-Guards has just now fabricated a new skill entirely unknown to the Interface. There's a pure, white-green aura around Guard, flowing like a sphere around him, and any hint of Death Firmament just wisps into nothing when it touches it.

Perfectly canceled. Perfectly negated. I don't even know how he managed—

"Ethan, get in here!" Guard calls again, sounding exasperated.

Oh. Right. I push my astonishment to the side and Warpstep, feeling the aura flood into me.

Then I take a deep breath, my eyes widening. It's like an instinctive response. The aura feels good. It's a warmth that spreads into my bones, giving me a sense of relaxation I don't think I've been able to have since the start of the damn Trial.

A bit dangerous, really, to relax like this in the middle of a fight, but it's not like the Regrets are actively attacking while they're channeling the skill.

"...Ethan?" Guard asks, looking at me with concern. I realize I'm smiling a little loopily and cough. Probably a strange expression to wear when surrounded by a deadly skill.

"Sorry, wasn't expecting... whatever this is." I wrap my hand in a bit of Phaseshift, then reach out toward the aura Guard is projecting; Life Firmament loops around my fingers like a purring cat. A very tiny purring cat. "It feels good. Like I'm taking a hot shower. Haven't had the chance to take many of those since coming here."

He-Who-Guards makes a curious sort of noise from his vocalizer. "You should have asked. There are facilities in Isthanok."

A pause. "I didn't think about that," I admit after a moment. I don't think I've spared much thought toward taking a break, but this aura is rapidly convincing me I might need one.

I mean, I took showers. I just forgot that hot water... existed. Most of my baths have been in one of the many rivers winding through Hestia.

"The next time we are close," He-Who-Guards says, "I will make sure to get you access to Whisper's facilities."

"I appreciate it," I say dryly. It does sound pretty good. Novi is staring between the two of us, clearly not understanding the conversation, but apparently happy to just listen for now. She looks like she's bursting with questions, though. "How did you even do this? Guard, this is... It's the equivalent of a Rank S skill. That you just created. Out of thin air."

Guard's optic flickers. "It is?" he asks, his voice uncertain. "I did not... I simply acted. It is something I have been trying to do since the fight with the Seedmother."

I whistle. That's not long ago at all. "Well, good work," I say. "I didn't really have a counter for gaseous attacks like this."

He-Who-Guards hesitates, then eventually gives me an oddly stiff nod. "I am glad I could help."

I can't help but eye him for a moment. "You know I admire you too, right? I mean, considering what you've been through..."

Guard says nothing, but his fans whirr a little faster. I have no idea what to make of it, so I turn my gaze back onto the horde of incoming Regrets.

That Death Fog skill isn't likely to be the last trick they have up their sleeves. Far into the distance, deeper into that tunnel, I can feel something else coming.

I just hope we're ready for it.

—

Rhoran was infuriated.

He'd made changes, and Ethan hadn't even run into them. And what he hadn't anticipated was that his changes had created Threads. Those weren't supposed to show up on Trialgoer planets! They were reserved for fourth-layer practitioners and above, even among Trialgoers. Part of that was because they were dangerous for anyone below the fourth to access them—their Firmament wouldn't hold steady.

The other part was that Threads allowed practitioners to grow way too fast. Almost fast enough to escape the bounds of the Interface.

Bah. It wouldn't be a problem, Rhoran told himself. Ethan would have to not only be able to feel a Thread and access it, he'd have to do it without hurting himself. He doubted that would happen.

And then it did.

Rhoran fumed*.*

It would be fine, he told himself. The changes he'd made ...

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Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1h4ybw9/die_respawn_repeat_book_3_ch_31/

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/ArmouredCadian on 2024-12-02 15:12:26+00:00.

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The scouting vessel Searches for Danger glided through the void of space, its mission to probe for the territories of the dangerous dragons and mark them out so that the Galactic Alliance could warn people away from them. It was a dangerous job, in a dangerous galaxy, and Captain Sass’threen viewed it as a method to prove that she was a talented and worthy Car’thoon.

 

Afterall, were the Car’thoon not the best members of the Galactic Alliance, even if the other members didn’t acknowledge it, since they were the best users of psionic power? And in Captain Sass’threen’s mind psionic power was the most important metric to measure anything by in the universe! Afterall, it’s what made the Dragons so deadly, and the only reason that her people were able to fight back against them!

 

Her musings were interrupted by a report from the sensor station of a vast psionic presence on a rocky planet.

 

++Any signs of Dragons?++ she pulsed at Lieutenant Newt’rual, her Orthoid Science officer.

 

++Negative so far++ the small grey being thought back at her as he peered at the various readings. “Sergeant Marknrak, I’m getting signs of EM waves from this planet, are you picking anything up on your instruments?” he called out to the Arcoinian communications specialist, and the only non-psionic species in the Galactic Alliance.

 

It annoyed Captain Sass’threen when they communicated non-psionically aboard ship, although Galactic Alliance regulations meant she couldn’t force psionic only communications even if she really felt that she really should be allowed to… Talking allowed felt dirty to her, and it totally didn’t have anything to do with the fact that her species wasn’t actually capable of it… Not at all!

 

Sgt Marknrak, a 1.8m tall bipedal reptilian with a wide snout that extended 40cm forward from his face and a wide powerful body was staring at his communications panel and processing all the information that was flowing from it. He turned to look at the captain, and said “We have a first contact scenario Ma’am”

 

This shocked Captain Sass’threen, as there had never been a first contact scenario while probing in the direction of the dragon territories. The dragons meant that sapient life had very little chance of developing, so this was a very unexpected development.

 

++Initiate psionic handshake then! Based on the heavy psionic presence they must obviously be a civilized psionic race!++

 

The Sgt snorted in reply “I’ll bet you 20 credits that these beings have no psionic communications ma’am”.

 

The psionic handshake protocol was initiated, and they watched on the viewscreen as it reached out to the planet… only to disappear completely as soon as it made contact with the psionic presence.

 

++Complete drainage of the psionic power as soon as contact was made ma’am++ Lt Newt’rual reported.

 

++What? How can that be?++

 

++Unknown at this time, ma’am++

 

“Initiating EM signal handshake protocol” Sgt Marknrak reported.

 

Captain Sass’threen spun to look at him, what protocol was he initiating? And why was he jumping to it so soon after one failure… what was he aware of that she wasn’t? She tried to remember why there was a tendency for Arcoinian’s to be communication specialists in the Galactic Alliance… something about how they were aware of multiple methods of communication because they didn’t rely solely on telepathy to convey everything at once?

 

++Sgt, why are you so convinced that they don’t have psionic communication? What have you seen that suggests that beings with such powerful psionic presences don’t use the more pure communication methods?++ she inquired of the communication specialist.

 

“With your permission Captain, I’ll throw some of what I have picked up from their planet on the main viewscreen to show you”

 

She nodded at this, that was sensible, making it easier to show her his evidence.

 

“So, if you look here, I scooped a bunch of the EM waves from the planet, and believe I found entertainment programming being broadcast. Nothing too unusual in that, but look here, here and here.” He glanced at the Captain as he was talking and realized that he was going to have to make it even more straight forward for her.

 

“Body language Captain. This species uses body language while communicating. Psionic species don’t bother using such a thing because they communicate it as part of the thought waves. Species that have to worry about their communication being potentially misunderstood include body language as a form of redundancy.”

 

Captain Sass’threen was devastated by another realization… in the videos she could she this primate looking species moving a jaw similar to the Arcoinians although not quite as pronounced, and they were quite obviously vocalising their speech! How could a race with such a strong psionic profile resort to such a primitive communication method?

 

“We have a request for communication from the planet now, after successful exchange of Lexicons through the EM signal handshake protocol Ma’am. Permission to put it on the main viewer, and to engage the psionic to EM transmitter for you ma’am?” the Sgt requested, dragging the Captain out of her rampant thought spirals.

 

++Yes to both Sgt, it seems I owe you some credits now++

 

The native species of the rocky planet below popped up on the viewscreen, and at first glance, they slightly resembled an Orthoid, being that they had 2 eyes above a slight nose, and a mouth rather than a snout like the Arcoinians had, although the facial structure of these beings was more oval rather than the tear drop shape the Orthoids had. Also, the eyes didn’t take up nearly so much up of their head, and they had some fur on top similar to the Rhondions.

 

The body to head balance was more in line with the Arcoinians as well compared to the Orthoids, given that the typical Orthoid had 1/4th of their height devoted to their head, whereas these beings looked like it was only 1/5th.

 

The teeth revealed when the being smiled at her in greeting – which was another point in similarity with the Arcoinians – were more like the Rhondions, suggesting a possible scavenging past?

 

“Greetings, I’m Colony director Sharon Lalonde of the Human colony New Belfast, how can we help you?”

 

Wait, had the creature just said that this was a colony? They set up a colony in Dragon space? Having your home world in Dragon space was one thing, you don’t really get a say in that, but a colony was a whole different matter.

 

++Excuse me, but are you unaware that we are in Dragon space at the moment? How long has your colony been set up, and how have you dealt with Dragon attacks?++

 

The creature stared at her blankly for a moment, before looking at the rest of her crew for confirmation that they were serious.

 

“What Dragons? We have been here for 30 years at this point and haven’t seen a single ‘Dragon’ the entire time. Could you maybe transmit a depiction of these Dragons and any known information about them?”

 

++Yes, of course. We are currently on a mission testing the edge of their territory because they have spent the last thousand years or so being suspiciously quiet, which isn’t too unusual for creatures known for living several thousands of years, but it has our government concerned++

 

“Uh, how accurate is this information that you just sent us?”

 

++As accurate as possible, why?++

 

“I’m going to have to call you back”

 

And with that the Human that called themselves Sharon disconnected the call, leaving a very confused bridge crew.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

In the headquarters of the Colony of New Belfast, Sharon Lalonde and the other heads of the colony were staring at the data sent by the alien vessel. It didn’t seem to be a joke by the aliens as far as they could tell, but the information that the data was telling them was simply unbelievable.

 

Because if it was to be believed, the supposed nesting grounds of these Dragons was Earth!

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/worldnews by /u/YesNo_Maybe_ on 2024-12-02 19:24:41+00:00.

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