"Yes I am Pax Humanis. Yes I am dangerous. But as long as I'm just teaching you to hunt animals here on this world, we're cool. Besides, my prey is far more interesting with far more security. All you're doing is helping me make sure the local deer population doesn't get too numerous." -- BKF

Puhshuff was plenty young, but they knew what those colours meant. Black, red, and yellow - sure to kill a fellow. They dropped their sad excuse for a knife and put their hands on their head. "I dint see nuthin'," they declared.

The killer in Pax Humanis coloured camouflage looked them over. She said, "What are you? Eight? Ten?"

They could only shrug. The killer didn't seem to want to kill, so Puhshuff relaxed a little.

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Therefore, I'm avoiding most of the big distractions and getting on with getting on with things.

Wish me luck because I'm already in chat with friends.

[1] Working the night shift and sleeping during the day.

They awakened to having two looking over them wearing bright colors, red and yellow with some black along the edging. They hurt, badly. They remembered pushing two beings out of the way as the quake caused the shelters to collapse and being hit by debris, but that's about it. -- BKF

Philosophers of the past have discovered various unpleasant ways to awaken after concussive unconsciousness. Among the top ten are the priming of weapons aimed at the waker's head, someone offering to go through pockets before horrific body disposal, and someone authoritatively asking for a scalpel.

In this case, the worrying thought to first greet Busser Shai was, Oh shit. I saved two members of Pax Humanis. The second thought, close behind, was, Black, red, and yellow. Sure to kill a fellow. The third was, Oh shit, again as he fought to maintain bowel and bladder control.

"Just breathe," said the one in the killer-coded harlequin-pattern shirt. "You've been doing that very well so far." The fact that he was smiling didn't mean a damn thing.

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Day 2 on this, I have one star. Let's go!

Still battling the Morbs and attempting to maintain diet and exercise. A little bit of sugar helps cheer my spirits. Too much is breaking my protocols. But at least I have A cure.

Today promises to be scorching, which is always such fun with an agenda like mine. Which includes: Parcel pickup, Costco, chemist's, and Aldi's. One thing at each fucking stop.

Lot of walking. Little reward. AND I should not have ice cream for a treato. Cold salami sticks and maybe avocado dip for me.

BUT as an extra mission, I shall attempt to price Protein Powder whenever I spot it and take notes. [Vanilla flavour of course] I'm not buying any. Just looking at the possibility if I need it. So there is enrichment. Technically.

I shall get going as soon as I know all the shops are open.

Story happening sometime after that.

When I passed, I did so helping others, and begged the gods to let me continue. I am now an eternal, living, fireproof, self-repairing, house that can teleport to where I'm most needed. I can care for those within me, and expel those with cruelty and violence in their hearts. So, I'm content. -- BKF

Some Devilborn live with the names they're given. It's rare, but it happens. The rest of us choose names that match our demonic nature or fit an aspiration that matches our hearts. I named myself Courtesy. As a wandering Druid, I did everything in my power to help those in need. Rarely a thought to myself.

And why not? I could make a shelter with earth shaped with my own magic. I could use a word and a gesture to provide sustenance for a day in a single berry.

That said, there's been many times when I went hungry or slept in whatever hollow I could find. Because other people needed it more, and I was exhausted from connecting with the leyflow. To that point, there were many times when I worked for others until I collapsed into said hollow in the ground. It was no great shock that one of those was where I died.

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Results for this past week of food monitoring indicate that I need more protein and less fat. So I shall be looking for cheaper sources of the stuff with a plan for Summer Biotic Protein Smoothies.

BTW "Halloween Salad" is a lot like "Easter Egg Salad" where all of the treats are in a communal bowl and everyone takes what they want.

So yeah. I had a bowl of sugar with occasional nutrients in it and I feel GREAT on an emotional level. Yes, I know it's terrible for me. Ask me how many shits I have to give about that.

The Promptcast only has five stories, this week. And one of our writers has left the channel. Possibly in a hissy fit. I may yet be able to talk them off of that ledge, but they were warned three times before their submission was cut out of the show. There was a warning to EVERYONE about the shit they pulled. So they can't say they were betrayed.

I'll find out their side of the story when they're ready to talk to me.

Fuckin' drama. I don't need it on top of everything else.

Now that it's November, I am aiming to do something towards the ADT rewrite per diem. If I finish a chapter, that's a bonus point. And I have engineered a way to keep track. Huzzah.

Onwards to today's dosage of nonsense.

National delicacy. That includes Local favorites. -- Knitnan

Newcomers to the Everdark are always surprised to learn how easily beasts can become Dire down there. Most commonly, the slugs often become Dire in the deeper caves and caverns. There's bats, too. Amongst many other creatures not also common on the surface.

There's just something about the fungi the grows down there. It does things to animals. And bugs. And other invertebrates. Oddly, though, the intelligent creatures are immune.

It might be luck. It might be a decision from the gods. After all, nobody wants to see what a Dire Dragon might be like.

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I might end up throwing my toast to the birds.

Blargh.

I shall try nonetheless.

I finished the storyline of Dressmaker yesterday, so now I am compelled to fill out all the achievements. I also want to do well on the one dress I fucked up, so I will be playing the storyline again.

Oh the "deprivation". Lawl.

Anyway, I endeavour to do the story and get some other projects progressed upon. I persist regardless of life pressing me down.

Story happening at some point. I will get there.

Being a human that moved into an underground city of teufellen and other races that other humans treat as unwanted, I thought I was going to be mistreated as they are above ground. But they have treated me more kindly, more humanely, than any of my own race ever have my entire life. -- BKF

[AN: Spelling corrected for one species]

Here, away from the sun, I am just a skilled crafter of fine objects. Silver, gold, copper... I will make things from wood if need be. They don't care what I look like.

In my old existence, up on the sunside as they call it, I was Ugly Meila. The woman nobody could want. Club foot. Hare lip. Strawberry birthmarks in weird patches all over. And a constellation of obvious moles. There's facial hair, too. I'm told that nobody can help how they were made, but they sure as hell should be able to help how they act.

And yes, I do spend some time journeying to a sunny patch once a week so the lack of sun doesn't poison my blood. How do you think Sunsday got its name? Other than that little inconvenience, life in the Everdark is shockingly easy.

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And this was before I found out that Patrick Stewart has passed on.

I will be seeing to my stupid fucking ankle and doing the daily tale, and a few household tasks... but I'm already fighting gravity while doing it.

I'm trying to get fitter. Curing this bullshit with carbs is not a great idea. I don't need a supreme lack of energy making it less than possible to drag myself through the day.

BUT the catbox waits for nobody and neither does the flash fiction. I aim to have more time to indulge in Dressmaker because I want the ENTIRE damn story. I hear there's lesbians.

Every story is better with lesbians if you can't get trans people.

BTW I got to Grandmaster inside of four plays. Go me.

Onwards to my allotted dose of nonsense.

No noble blood have I- no kin to the blue devils of Whitekeep. But still, I will be a knight, and act as one as nobly as I can. -- Weirdlet

Chivalry's earliest memory was watching the knights training. If ze was lucky, there'd be food ze could filch without coming to harm. They were magnificent. They were amazing. They were wealthy beyond young Chivalry's dreams... and ze was an orphan tolerated by the local roadhaus because ze cleaned up all the ashes in the fireplaces.

Because of hir brown skin and hair, they said ze grew up out of the dungheap like a weed. It wasn't unusual for a Hellkin to possess more Human hues, but people treated it as odd. Most of the devilborn were in every possible hue of nature and a few that had never been seen in any natural thing. Having one being literally dung brown was proof enough for many ordinary people that Hellin in general were as offensive. It was made clear for Chivalry before ze turned four. Ze was unworthy of existing.

That could not, and would not stop hir.

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Zoning out on distractions is not helping with that agenda.

Trying to get a story done before I need to treat my stupid fucking ankle again. Hopefully, I shall have time to play some Dressmaker.

Let's get on with that.

The world judges a person by their appearance. I've stopped apologizing about mine a long time ago. -- BKF

"There are old Teufellen and there are bold Teufellen. There are very few old, bold Teufellen," lectured the old Hellkin to Risk, who he had caught trying to pickpocket. "As far as I know, I'm the only one who's both. So. Before I call the Watch about you..."

Risk didn't let him get any further. Ze put on the mummer's tears and sobbed, "Please don't let them get me! They'll cut off my hands and brand my arms and sell me to the slavers! Ple-he-heee-ease..."

"They don't do that here in Arbordeep," said the old man. "Try a different scam."

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But now my Wednesdays are fully booked out. I can move the Physio to Tuesdays and not worry too hard.

But today... I will not have time for breakfast until it's closer to lunch.

'Tis the way of things, alas.

One day, I shall be organised. That day is not today.

The helpful fae of the house mourned when the elderly resident passed. They, however, had the three young cats that the person had deeply loved to take care of. And a house to tend. -- BKF

The house was as still and quiet as the dead. Which made sense, since the person who owned it had died, leaving it vacant. Well. Vacant if you didn't count her beloved cats. They slept on her bed, hunted the mice and pests, and were very well fed even a week after the body of their former person had been removed for burial.

There was no food in the pantry. No stores in the cellar, yet the cats were fed and groomed. Even their litterbox was kept clean.

When Sisi took over ownership of both house and felines, they wondered why the cats were so healthy. Or so friendly. They bought some meat scraps and cream for them, of course, and they instantly took to Sisi like they were old friends. Glad for a friendly touch.

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