Ohm

Ꭼꭲꭼꭱɴꭺꮮ Ꭲꮋꭱꮻɴꭼ

P O R T K A I G U R N E , S I L I A C H

<sup>Zahra watched the soldier approach and slow his pace until arriving near her.

"Good morning," the soldier began, bowing slightly forward. "My name is Aeneas Castor, Patron of the Port Guard. I assume from the information I've been given that you are... Zahra ibn Mālik. We don't get many eidola here in the port, let alone in Siliach altogether, so I apologize that we took extra time to conduct our inquiries."

His body shifted awkwardly in place as he lifted his hand. Pinned between a few fingers was a piece of parchment, its creases accentuated.

"But, everything seems to be in order, so here is your permit approved. Before we open the gates and allow you passage, a few words of note. Our capital, Redmire, is awaiting the coronation of its new queen today. If I am correct, she is currently on the way there, accompanied by a convoy of other carriages. If you do happen to spot them on the road as you travel within Siliach, interaction outside of royal grounds is considered an offense punishable by imprisonment and, perhaps, even death. It's not something we would like to do, but the curse that plagues our royal line is something we handle with the utmost seriousness and discretion.

"Additionally, while we keep its borders protected from the outside world, Siliach may be prone to criminal activity, notably rampant theft. Keep your belongings close and your eye keen. If you would rather, we can assign an armed escort from the port to accompany you to your destination, though this would incur an additional fee. Otherwise, you are free to travel within Siliach as you see fit. Just don't do anything illegal."

Aeneas went silent for a few moments, as if waiting for a response, but before he could get one, he was called away by two other guards, who themselves were attempting to break up a confrontation between two ylva merchants. With one last wave of his hand and a point towards the eidola, somewhere nearby, the gates of Siliach opened, flanked on each side by several guards who were ready to dispatch any would-be invader.</sup>

R E D M I R E , C A P I T A L C I T Y

<sup>"My lady, what do you think your first decree will be once you've been crowned?"

Shenley attempted to make even the barest conversation, hands clasped together. Days before, he was in a different place, far removed from the elegance and bustle a capital city could provide. He was surrounded by close confidants, each of which were notified of what was to transpire. For everything to be successful, the plan would need to go off without a hitch, but there would always be unknown variables. Such a legacy as Redmire's royal line saw to that in great measure.

Eliora turned her face to her elderly advisor, whose errant wisps of silvered hair jostled lightly in the rumble of the carriage.

"I don't know," she began, pausing her thought almost immediately. She remembered how rough her other voice had been and subsequently felt a minuscule lump in her throat. "Perhaps something can be done about the excess crops? We've more than enough food to keep the city from going hungry. Maybe we can use the surplus to feed the surrounding villages?"

"An excellent idea, your Benevolence." Shenley managed to choke out a soft chuckle but, once more, silence overwhelmed the small space the two of them shared. Somewhere outside the carriage, they could hear wood hit cobblestone, and the clopping of numerous hooves.

"I don't want this to happen, Shenley."

The old man's head turned to see a tear escape Eliora's eye. Inner eyebrows turned upward, he knew something like this was coming.

"I know there was a promise made," the new queen continued, casting her gaze to the window, the gray stonework of Redmire and muted colors that vaguely resembled its residents passing by. "But... what if it all goes wrong? What if I don't come back?"

"I... I know it's scary, to be in a position like yours. This is not something we've done before, but all our hopes rest on this one event not failing. If there was another way, you wouldn't have to be here, taking up the mantle. I want you to know—everyone involved, I trust them implicitly, because we all share a common belief and the same goal, and I promise you—you will come back."

His words felt nearly empty, as if he himself struggled with the belief. He didn't lie; he trusted everyone in the plan to the fullest extent, but life is chaos, and anything could fail. It didn't matter if the people in his circle were trustworthy, if even one point in the plan fell through, the future would be filled with death, if anything at all.

As Shenley came to this realization in the quiet, he could feel the carriage slow beneath him. His head turned to Eliora and an old, wrinkly hand reached out to accept hers.

"Well, it's time, my dear," Shenley concluded, his voice eerily calm. "Destiny awaits."

Eliora slipped her gloved hand into his, her body wracked with near-imperceptible tremors. Her advisor pushed open the door with his other hand, revealing the side of the stage whereupon Eliora would receive her crown. The queen leaned into the doorway, peering out at the congregation that gathered in front of the stage, each face a mix of celebration, unease, and ennui. Shenley gingerly guided Eliora out of the carriage and into the open air.</sup>

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E D W A R D

"Well, children, if you're all quite finished with your bickering, shall I elaborate a little more on why we have the pleasure of one another's company?"

Edward stifled a chuckle with a sharp exhalation, taking his place near a window that gave way to a cloudy sky. His sisters, as was typical, were at each other's throats in the subtlest of ways, something he learned to tune out when he was younger. It was annoying, always hearing the family bicker.

"As you all know, a few days ago I found your father... I found your father dead in our bed. At first, paramedics assumed some kind of cardiac arrest. A hemorrhage, maybe. They believed he'd died somewhat peacefully in his sleep."

Already, he knew the paramedics were mistaken, or perhaps he wished them to be. Edward couldn't remember a time where he didn't wish his father was plagued with nightmares. For all the good Anthony supposedly did in the world, his son knew it was to keep up an image. Real life was often worse.

"The police are saying, after their medical experts reassessed the scene, that your father was actually murdered. Asphyxiation is the conclusion so far, but the postmortem will reveal more details. They're not sure how long this will take but in the meantime, we need to prepare ourselves."

Prepare for what, Edward wondered. To protect our reputation? Why? We have more money than the world knows what to do with. We can literally buy silence.

If people were cagey with being questioned, then they had something to hide, he figured. There was nothing Edward felt needed to be kept secret. If there was a murder, he'd be an open book on when and where he'd been. The clubs could vouch for him, and the women he'd brought back to his bed—even if they hated the way he casually paid them the next morning—would attest to his escapades between the sheets. Edward's thoughts turned to the next time he'd be away from this place, his eyes casually following his mother as she slowly paced around the pool house.

"Your father's death is bound to be in the press by tomorrow. I've managed to keep it out of the public eye thus far, give us some privacy as a family, but my luck's about to run out. The leeches can only stay away for so long before a good story brings them out of the woodwork. The vultures will descend and when they do, I want us ready. Katherine, I want you to deploy close-protection security to each of us. If Anthony's murder is as suspicious as the police say, none of us are safe."

None of us are safe. After all these years, what an ironic thing to say.

"The will reading is tomorrow. You all need to be there. Not that I think you'd miss the opportunity to hear first-hand what small fortune you're each inheriting. Ryland will be distributing the estate and assets. Funeral arrangements are being made. It'll be on Friday next week, providing they release your father's body in the next couple days."

There was a certain tone in his mother's voice that pinched a nerve. She was clearly on the attack, trying to do damage control. Underneath her words, he could hear how the tears she shed tinged every formant and pitch, and it was this that dug at him. Edward knew for a fact that none of those tears were realistically for her now-dead husband. No—instead, they were for the very possibility that their lives were going to collapse around them, that none of what transpired across the years would remained unburied, as it would ruin the family's good—good?—name. Edward's eyes darted over to the window, watching the backyard and the pool in particular. In the midst of the speech, he briefly daydreamed being younger, yet still having the wherewithal to...

"So what are we supposed to do in the meantime?" Edward asked, stepping away from the window and rejoining the family. At the same time, he took notice of Mariana, who had suddenly become visibly distraught and reached for her phone as she immediately left the pool house. It was an odd behavior, one that could betray two possible causes. Regardless—"Are we staying here, booking a hotel, what? If the detectives are going to be grilling us about Father's death, I assume we're not going far."

random fact about yourself

In fourth grade, I accomplished two things:

• Reciting all known prepositions in alphabetic and reverse alphabetic order.
• Causing the misremembering and misattribution of a very famous quote on a widespread scale to this day. It has not been corrected.

What Are You Listening To?

What Are You Listening To?

+ jag tappar ständigt modet +

+ att våga stanna kvar +

There's no one that makes music like Vildhjarta.

When the intro riff comes back at the end, it brings with it such a powerful catharsis that hits like nothing else.

This is why they remain at the forefront of their field.

This is why all other bands in their genre follow their blueprint.

Ꭼꭲꭼꭱɴꭺꮮ Ꭲꮋꭱꮻɴꭼ

Posting within the next 48 hours.

Video Game Discussion: Part IV (The Gaming Industry in Decay Arc)

Ubisoft's shares have plummeted from $100 to somewhere around $5, leading to a 91% decrease in valuation since 2018. Ever since Yves Guillemot has tried to pivot towards Web3 and AI, among consistent disappointments with their releases over the years, people are just not putting their interest in the company's games anymore. This restructuring is probably going to be a last ditch effort for them to save a sinking ship, though I have no idea how they're going to do that. They've cancelled multiple games and shut down two studios so far, delayed several other projects, instated an RTO mandate, and a French union has been quoted as saying that Guillemot "has no knowledge or understanding of his company."

Dark days ahead for Ubisoft.

£ 𝕚𝕟𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖 £ - A Murder Mystery RP

I also might be delayed in posting soon, if this job lines up for me. Not considerably, but enough to take notice.

£ 𝕚𝕟𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖 £ - A Murder Mystery RP

I do have a concern, a small one, with the pacing. There's no actual rule about posting rate, unless I'm blind and didn't see it. I understood that PatientBean had an issue with how fast the RP was moving—again, the fault is mine there—so I just wanted to figure out what our expected post rate is supposed to be. It would help with pacing a bit, and allow everyone to get a word in IC-wise without any two people overwhelming the back-and-forth.

Otherwise, I'm enjoying everything so far. Liking all the characters. Never played something like this before, so it's been fun navigating the nuances.

£ 𝕚𝕟𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖 £ - A Murder Mystery RP

In lieu of Adeline being indisposed, I'm fine with not posting until her return. Gives us time to discuss how we want things to go, if needed, but if we want to continue on, I'm fine with that, too.