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Court of Appeals of Wisconsin.
Appeal No. 2016AP1196
June 13, 2017
Cir. Ct. No. 2015CV4024
APPEAL from an order of the circuit court for Milwaukee County: GLENN H. YAMAHIRO, Judge. Affirmed.
Before Brennan, P.J., Kessler and Dugan, JJ.
*1 ¶1 Antrice Hart appeals from an order that granted summary judgment to Esvin Gomez and his insurer Artisan and Truckers Casualty Company (Artisan) and dismissed her complaint. This is a personal injury case that arises from a car accident Gomez caused on August 1, 2014, in which Hart was injured. The circuit court based its order on the full release of claims Hart signed on the day of the accident.
¶2 Hart argues that the full release of claims she signed is inadmissible evidence because WIS. STAT. § 904.12(1) (2015-16),1 by its plain language, prohibits the admission of any "statement made or writing signed by the injured person within 72 hours of the time the injury happened[.]" We disagree and affirm.
¶3 Gomez was driving on Fond du Lac Avenue at about 2:30 p.m. on August 1, 2014, and he rear-ended the car that was behind Hart's vehicle and pushed it into her vehicle. Hart was injured in the accident.
¶4 At approximately 3:00 p.m., Hart called Artisan to report the claim. At about 3:45 p.m., an Artisan representative called Hart. Hart told the representative she could not take the call at that moment due to a flat tire on her car and asked for a call later. At about 4:30 p.m., an Artisan representative, Ashley Shusta, spoke with Hart by phone. This conversation was recorded, and a transcript of the call was made part of the record. Shusta informed Hart that Hart could take her vehicle to Artisan's service center for repairs that same day, that Artisan could "set aside $1000 for the next fifteen days" to pay medical bills, and that Artisan could give Hart $500 for her pain and inconvenience. Shusta told Hart that she would need to "sign a release" and that a copy of the release would be ready for her at the service center when she came to drop off her car for repair.
¶5 On that day, the same day as the accident, Hart signed a release titled "Full Release of All Claims with Indemnity." It expressly stated that the nature and extent of injury was doubtful and disputed, that recovery from any injuries was uncertain and indefinite, that it was not entered into in reliance upon any doctor's diagnosis, and that Hart was relying wholly on her own judgment, belief and knowledge of the nature, extent, effect and duration of injuries. The release also stated in relevant part:
Antrice Hart, a single person, for and in consideration of the payment of Five Hundred and 00/100 Dollars ($500.00), the receipt and sufficiency of which is hereby acknowledged, does hereby for myself … release acquit and forever discharge Esvin Gomez and Artisan and Truckers Casualty Company … from any and all claims … which the undersigned now has/have or which may hereafter accrue on account of or in any way growing out of an accident which occurred on or about 08/01/2014, at or near Milwaukee, Wisconsin. In further consideration, the released parties agree to pay reasonable and necessary medical and/or dental expenses up to a maximum of One Thousand 00/100 Dollars ($1000.00) incurred by me within 15 days after the date of this release ….
*2 The undersigned has read the foregoing release and fully understands it.
(Some capitalization and formatting altered.)
¶6 On May 13, 2015, Hart filed this action. Artisan filed a summary judgment motion. The circuit court granted summary judgment on the grounds that the release of claims barred Hart's action. This appeal follows.
WISCONSIN STAT. § 904.12(1) does not bar the admission into evidence of an injured person's release of claims signed within seventy-two hours of the accident.
¶7 The narrow question before us is whether the release Hart signed is admissible evidence. Hart claimed that it was not admissible under WIS. STAT. § 904.12(1) and that therefore her claims survived Artisan's summary judgment motion. The circuit court concluded that the statute did not bar admission of the release and granted Artisan's motion.
¶8 We must decide whether in WIS. STAT. § 904.12(1) the legislature intended the rule on the admissibility of statements made or writings signed by an injured party within seventy-two hours of an accident to apply to releases. For the reasons set forth below, we conclude that our supreme court's interpretation of the predecessor statute to § 904.12(1), which is in all relevant respects identical, is controlling. The supreme court, in Buckland v. Chicago, St. Paul, Minneapolis & Omaha Railway Co., 160 Wis. 484, 486, 152 N.W. 289 (1915), concluded that the legislature did not intend the prohibition on such writings to apply to a release of claims. Because we are bound by that holding and agree with the circuit court that the current statute does not prohibit the admission of Hart's release, we affirm.
Standard of review and principles of law.
¶9 WISCONSIN STAT. § 802.08 governs summary judgment methodology, and we apply that methodology in the same manner as the circuit court. See Green Spring Farms v. Kersten, 136 Wis. 2d 304, 315, 401 N.W.2d 816 (1987). We examine the summary judgment submissions to determine whether a genuine issue of material fact exists or whether either party is entitled to judgment as a matter of law. See id.
¶10 Additionally, resolution of this appeal requires interpretation of a statute, for which we employ a de novo review. See Wilson v. Waukesha County, 157 Wis. 2d 790, 794, 460 N.W.2d 830 (Ct. App. 1990).
¶11 A settlement agreement is a contract by nature. American Nat'l Prop. and Cas. Co. v. Nersesian, 2004 WI App 215, ¶16, 277 Wis. 2d 430, 689 N.W.2d 922. "An authorized offer from an insurance company, if accepted (and assuming consideration), must be held to create a settlement contract." Carey v. Dairyland Mut. Ins. Co., Inc., 41 Wis. 2d 107, 117, 163 N.W.2d 200 (1968).
The statute and related case law.
¶12 WISCONSIN STAT. § 904.12(1) states in relevant part:
In actions for damages caused by personal injury, no statement made or writing signed by the injured person within 72 hours of the time the injury happened or accident occurred, shall be received in evidence unless such evidence would be admissible as a present sense impression, excited utterance or a statement of then existing mental, emotional or physical condition[.]
*3 ¶13 This prohibition has existed in some form in Wisconsin law since 1911. An almost identical version of the statute was considered by our supreme court in 1915 in Buckland. At that time, the statute read as follows:
In civil actions for damages caused by personal injury no statement made or writing signed by the injured party within seventy-two hours of the time the injury happened or accident occurred, shall be used in evidence against the party making or signing the same unless such evidence would be admissible as part of the res gestae.
Id. at 486 (quoting Laws of 1911, ch. 123, § 4079m).
¶14 The court in Buckland was asked to answer the same question presented here. A party had signed a release of claims and then sought to bar the admission of the release based on the statutory prohibition on the use of writings signed by an injured party within seventy-two hours of the accident. Id. at 485. The court concluded that the Legislature did not intend such releases to be inadmissible: "[h]ad the Legislature intended to prevent settlements being made within seventy-two hours after an injury occurred, it would have said so unequivocally." Id. at 486. It further reasoned that "[t]he law encourages settlements, and legal presumption favors their validity, and an agreement of settlement cannot be said to be a statement against the interest of either party to it, until it is impeached by the recognized legal methods." Id. Therefore, it concluded, "[t]he statute was intended to apply to and cover … statements procured for purposes of defense" and not to settlements. Id.
Hart's arguments.
¶15 Hart argues that the plain language of the statute prohibits a court from considering a written release of claims signed within seventy-two hours even if the statute does not mention releases. Hart argues that, under Kalal, statutory interpretation "begins with the language of the statute. If the meaning of the statute is plain, we ordinarily stop the inquiry." State ex rel. Kalal v. Circuit Court for Dane Cty., 2004 WI 58, ¶45, 271 Wis. 2d 633, 681 N.W.2d 110 (citation omitted). Hart argues that the release in this case is a "writing signed by the injured person within seventy-two hours of the time the injury happened" and therefore under the statute's plain meaning, the release cannot be admissible.
¶16 However, that argument ignores the fact that our supreme court has addressed the interpretation of a predecessor statute, and there is controlling authority that must be followed or distinguished. We cannot "stop the inquiry" when a statute or its predecessor has been the focus of previous supreme court interpretations, as is the case here. So we must consider whether WIS. STAT. § 904.12(1) should be interpreted the same way as its predecessor.
¶17 Hart argues that it should not. Hart argues that Buckland does not bind this court because the statute it was interpreting was "similar to but not the same as WIS. STAT. § 904.12(1)." The reason we should interpret it differently, Hart argues, is that the title of the 1911 act that created the statute was "[a]n act to create section 4079m of the statutes, relating to the admission in evidence of statements against interest." (Emphasis added.) The title of the current statute is "Statement of injured; admissibility; copies." See WIS. STAT. § 904.12. This, she argues, is a significant difference.
*4 ¶18 We do not agree. First, a title to a statute is not part of the statute. See WIS. STAT. § 990.001(6). "[A] title may not be used to alter the meaning of a statute or create an ambiguity where no ambiguity existed." Noffke v. Bakke, 2009 WI 10, ¶25, 315 Wis. 2d 350, 760 N.W.2d 156.
¶19 Secondly, the plain language of each version expresses an evidentiary rule. Each version begins with identical language defining the type of statement covered by the statute: "no statement made or writing signed by the injured person within seventy-two [72] hours of the time the injury happened or accident occurred, shall be used in evidence…." Then each addresses the admissibility of such statements in terms of hearsay rules. The older version addresses admissibility in the context of the hearsay exception for a statement against interest, and the newer one expands that to other established hearsay exceptions: "… unless such evidence would be admissible as a present sense impression, excited utterance or a statement of then existing mental, emotional or physical condition[.]" WIS. STAT. § 904.12(1).
¶20 The plain language of both versions shows that they are identical in purpose and meaning, and thus Hart's attempt to distinguish Buckland fails. Buckland expressly held that the legislature intended to encourage settlement and did not intend to exclude settlement releases or it would have said so. Buckland, 160 Wis. at 486. Because the statute is, in essence, the same statute interpreted by the supreme court in Buckland, we are compelled to follow its interpretation. "[W]e are bound by supreme court precedent, even if it is over a century old." Walberg v. St. Francis Home, Inc., 2004 WI App 120, ¶7 n.4, 274 Wis. 2d 414, 683 N.W.2d 518.
¶21 Additionally, to construe the current statute as Hart argues would conflict with contract law. Hart in effect argues that any release signed by an injured party within seventy two hours must be excluded. But it is well established that a release is a contract, see American Nat'l Prop. and Cas. Co., 277 Wis. 2d 430, ¶16, and when faced with a question about a contract, our supreme court has stated, a court is to be "mindful that the freedom to contract has long been protected in this state." See Whirlpool Corp. v. Ziebert, 197 Wis. 2d 144, 148, 539 N.W.2d 883 (1995).
¶22 The absurdity of Hart's argument is further shown in the plain language of the current statute permitting the admission of a statement by an injured person, as long as it fits within the established hearsay exceptions for present sense impression, or excited utterance or then existing condition. None of these hearsay exceptions have applicability in the contract context because a release provision does not state an injured person's contemporaneous statement of then-existing startling or traumatic events. See WIS. STAT. § 908.03. Thus, if we were to follow Hart's interpretation, there is no way to give meaning to those words of the statute––which we are obligated to do. See Kalal, 271 Wis. 2d 633, ¶46 ("Statutory language is read where possible to give reasonable effect to every word, in order to avoid surplusage."). Additionally, we note that the location of the current statute, in a chapter governing evidentiary rules, is further evidence that it was not intended to apply to the kind of contract entered here, a release agreement.
*5 ¶23 Finally, we note that the legislature's approval of the Buckland court's interpretation of the predecessor statute can be inferred from the fact that in a hundred years, it has never expressed its disapproval by amending the statute to specify that releases signed within seventy-two hours are prohibited as evidence. See State v. Eichman, 155 Wis. 2d 552, 566, 456 N.W.2d 143 (1990) ("Further support for our conclusion that [the statute in question] was intended to grant broader rights than [another statute] is found in the fact that the legislature has not acted in response to the broader construction given the former statute in [prior opinions]."). It is presumed that the legislature has full knowledge of existing law. Peters v. Menard, Inc., 224 Wis. 2d 174, 187, 589 N.W.2d 395 (1999). "Legislative inaction following judicial construction of a statute, while not conclusive, evinces legislative approval of the interpretation." Eichman, 155 Wis. 2d at 566.
¶24 Therefore, because the statute does not bar the admission into evidence of the release Hart signed, and because the release bars her action, the circuit court properly granted summary judgment.
By the Court.—Order affirmed
All Citations
Slip Copy, 2017 WL 2558872
All references to the Wisconsin Statutes are to the 2015-16 version unless otherwise noted.


text:
By Marla Backer
Corporate Resource Services (CRRS) is a rapidly growing temporary staffing company that has launched an ambitious M&A strategy to augment organic growth. The company also has implemented initiatives to improve margins and profitability, including a diversification effort to complement the core staffing business. We are enthusiastic about the company's growth prospects and believe the favorable outlook for the temporary staffing industry creates a positive tailwind.
CRS provides staffing services, primarily for administrative support and positions in light industrial services. The company's 6,000 plus customer base ranges from mom and pops to Fortune 1000 companies in a broad array of sectors.
Heading into 2014 from Strength Since 2006, through a combination of organic growth and an ambitious acquisition strategy, the company has expanded its footprint to 231 staffing offices. Its domestic network extends to 42 states and Washington, D.C. In addition, with the recent acquisition of FlexPlus in the U.K., the company now has an operating base from which to launch further expansion in the European staffing industry.
Revenue reached an estimated $816.5 million in 2013, up from $63.7 million in 2009. This equates to CAGR of nearly 80% and reflects a combination of organic growth and the merger of several smaller, regional staffing companies that were assembled together to form a larger organization with a national footprint. Following six major acquisitions in 2009-2013 that helped build CRS to its current scale, management's focus has increasingly turned to improving CRS margins and profitability.
Last year was a transformative one for CRS. The company launched several initiatives to improve profitability, including rebranding to strengthen and better leverage the CRS brand, re-negotiating economics with key vendors and customers and diversifying into new complementary businesses. The company also acquired its first offshore staffing operation.
UK: Base For European Expansion In November of 2013, CRS purchased U.K.-based Flex Recruitment Plus, its first offshore acquisition. The management team at FlexPlus will remain to help oversee CRS' planned expansion within the European market, as the company has indicated that it is pursuing three additional U.K. recruitment firms. FlexPlus' founder will oversee two of these anticipated deals and will also manage U.K. operations for CRS. The company expects FlexPlus to be immediately accretive to earnings.
In addition to a strategic presence in the U.K. and Europe, the acquisition also gave CRS FlexPlus' iintegra software. CRS intends to launch iintegra, which is a job posting and applicant tracking system, across its U.S. operations, beginning with New York branches. Moreover, many of CRS' corporate clients have U.K. operations and CRS intends to leverage these relationships in order to grow its overall revenues.
A copy of the full research report can be downloaded here >> Corporate Resource Services Report
Please visit our website for additional information on Zacks SCR and to view our disclaimer. You can also subscribe to receive our articles and reports emailed directly to you each morning.
By Marla Backer

subset: commoncrawl


text:
It would be better as "which went wrong". Was this a newspaper headline?
Interested in Language
'A major explosion and fire swept through a temple due to a fireworks display gone wrong.'
Is the above sentence grammatically correct with regard to the usage of 'gone wrong' after a noun phrase?
It would be better as "which went wrong". Was this a newspaper headline?
"Invading armies have no rights." Noam Chomsky
Yes, it's fine.
I am not a teacher.
I am not a teacher.
I think that maybe your sentence is an ellipsis [missing words] of "A major explosion swept through a temple due to a fireworks display [that had] gone wrong."
P.S. A few (very few!) teachers might even prefer "because of" instead of "due to" in your sentence.
According to the news reports in the UK, the fire was caused by some stored fireworks somehow catching fire, causing an explosion where they were being stored. It was not a firework display which went wrong - the fireworks were being stored in readiness for a display in a few days (permission for which had been denied).
Remember - if you don't use correct capitalisation, punctuation and spacing, anything you write will be incorrect.


text:
[Susan notes: Excellent Point: America's K-12 schools are among the very safest places for a child to be. A child is more likely to die from parental abuse or neglect than to die from all violent causes at school by a ratio of 66-to-1.]
Submitted to Omaha World-Herald but not published
To the editor
Rob Bligh
This site contains copyrighted material the use of which has not always been specifically authorized by the copyright owner. We are making such material available in our efforts to advance understanding of education issues vital to a democracy. We believe this constitutes a 'fair use' of any such copyrighted material as provided for in section 107 of the US Copyright Law. In accordance with Title 17 U.S.C. Section 107, the material on this site is distributed without profit to those who have expressed a prior interest in receiving the included information for research and educational purposes. For more information click here. If you wish to use copyrighted material from this site for purposes of your own that go beyond 'fair use', you must obtain permission from the copyright owner.


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I hate going grocery shopping. I have written before about my inability to plan meals and I am sure that feeds into the loathing I feel when it comes time to get groceries. I'd let our fridge be empty and eat boxed macaroni and cheese every night for dinner before I'd go grocery shopping. Occasionally I will get a bug similar to the spring cleaning bug people get when the weather changes and I will gladly make my list and happily trek through all the aisles, somehow feeling like I am fulfilling a womanly duty. But most of the time I groan, scribble some things down on a random piece of paper, try to drag The Boy, The Man, or both with me so I'll at least have someone to gripe to. I drag my feet through the aisles, annoyed at the people who block the walkway. I mutter under my breath at those who don't control their loud and obnoxious children – should they really have had that fifth child, I wonder? When I have finally put everything into my cart that I think I need, inevitably forgetting one key item, I make my way up to the checkout line. I lean against the cart and read the headlines of the tabloids as they sit in their wire stand, wondering if there is a better way to do this thing we call grocery shopping.
And there is! I knew that Safeway * delivered groceries, but I thought that it must be too expensive and that only the rich and famous could afford such luxuries. Out of curiosity, I visited the site one day and filled up my cart with everything on my list. It took a little while to do it, but it came to quite a surprise to me that the total was within my monthly grocery budget!
I was a little disappointed in the search feature. Yes I could type in cottage cheese, but it only brought up a few choices. If I went to the dairy section I was able to choose from many more brands and a variety of sizes.
The delivery fee is $9.95. I know that I'm paying for someone to purchase my groceries, and that amount is worth it to me. But I had a coupon code for the first delivery, so no delivery fee this time!
I checked out at the (limited) privacy of my desk on my lunch break, setting the delivery time for the next day in the evening. I went home and remembered two more things I needed and added them to my order from home. The order came within the time slot provided. The delivery person called when they were here, brought two freezer bags up to the door on a dolly and unloaded the bags onto the dining room table. We signed for our order and he was on his way!
I unloaded my groceries and was surprised to see everything that I ordered, no mistakes. I made a note about the bananas, "the greener the better" and I received two very green bananas.
This experience was a dream come true! I will definitely use this service again. It's not just for the rich and famous.
*Please note that I have no affiliation with Safeway, nor have they asked me to promote their site. In fact, they do not know that I am writing this review and I hope I wasn't supposed to ask permission first!
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Website Review: Safeway
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|Reviews for Reversed Roles
| TWEETYBIRD chapter 1 . 7/29/2010
Can not wait to read those. This was awesome. I ejoyed it. The Miz an Jericho pairing I liked alot. I never thought I would but I enjoyed it. AWESOME JOB!
| Liz811 chapter 1 . 7/27/2010
This is a great way to relax anyone.
Jericho ceding power to Mike, good way to use it.
As always, very good job in making me need a cold shower haha
| Mizzy681 chapter 1 . 7/27/2010
I have no words... no words at all... My brain is mush.
Well, I have two: thank you. That's what I call Jerimiz. And see, nothing wrong with some foreplay ;)
Just reread it and seeing literally seeing stars now... There's nothing sensible coming out my head anymore, so again THANK YOU!
| belladonnanoir chapter 1 . 7/27/2010
Wooo a dominating Mizzy, gotta love it :) This was wonderful, two of my favourite people and damn it was hot! Its days like this, I am glad I am ill so I can just lay back and enjoy the stories...lol lots of fantasies :)
I really hope you don't stop posting...if you do I'm gonna haunt ya on twitter. Only joking but seriously I love your stories and also I really like your video you made for Randy! People better get their act together and give you some damn recognition cos with a talent like yours, you sure as hell deserve it!
Hugs x
| SlytherinQueen020 chapter 1 . 7/27/2010
I think my brain just melted.


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Simply Being
Shyrrik raised a hand to his face to shield himself from the wind and the dust that whipped bitingly against him while he happened a glance out to the landscape before him, unable now to give more than a squint to look at it. The pressure shock from the catastrophic upheaval of soil and mantle had caused a massive disturbance in the immediate area, the features of the land broken in colossal fractures and turned up into a jagged and indiscriminate line of earthen rubble nestled up against the great scar carved so many fathoms wide, and so many leagues deep into the ground. Shyrrik had risen from the collapsing cavern in a stupor to the crest of a tall pile of rock and uprooted trees, and his vantage point was optimal. Stretching from one horizon to the other was a deep, black void into which one could peer for eternity, wide enough that one could scarcely spot its opposite shore, a teeming and unsettling darkness into which Shyrrik felt as though he was being lured. He held his mouth, the vertigo making him nauseated, and stepped away from the edge of his perch.
At the end of his sight, the line of the crevice met with the redness of the setting sun. The light wrapped around the area near to it in a kind of aura that glimmered noticeably, disclosing the existence of a wall or shell around the pit. The gods had made good their word; even now, Shyrrik could see the distant spark of clashing violence in the murky chaos as the dimensional tears poured forth with hell's very own, ripping and gnashing at their confines and at each other. The barrier became translucent as it approached him and faded to invisibility at its closest point to where he stood. The most salient impression that it left upon him was the delicacy of it; to him, it felt fragile and fleeting, even if it may not have been so, and all the gods' promises could not assuage the uneasiness he felt as he peered down into the unholy miasma bubbling up from the most violent places in the universe.
Amrit had made fools of them all. Shyrrik tightened his fists, but he could not find the strength to fuel his fury, for in the face of these new circumstances he felt only a supreme impotence. Weighing down on his shoulders was the snatching away of what he believed to be the power that he possessed to affect the world in some great and perdurable way, a morbid sense of time that unmercifully dismantled any inkling of ego he'd managed to construct over the course of his journey. He found himself staring out into a world uninfluenced by his presence but for his weak regard of it. A cold wind chilled him, causing him a shiver, and his heart had not the warmth or will to beat it back. In his mind, he could not reconcile the power he wielded in his bow with the notion that the story that he'd written for himself, that which set his soul alight and gave him direction, would conclude long after he had left this world. There was bitter irony in it, for the Shyrrik of yesteryear would have scoffed and asserted the blatant obviousness of such a thing. But, that Shyrrik did not have the heart which he did now.
At some point, Aedra joined him on his rocky spire. He acknowledged her somberly in his catatonic glance out over the new world, touching his own chest in restless melancholy. In that brief moment, he felt as though the only connection to a time when he'd felt alive was standing next to him for only as long as its own personal whims, in all their mystery, would fancy it. Kraytol was gone, Ejnar beholden to her own solipsistic reality, other companions killed or scattered. Mirabella was dead and Amrit had escaped to some other plane to suffer some unknown fate – Shyrrik couldn't help but lament even the disappearance of every sworn enemy to validate the breaths that he now took. Reaching back into his quiver, he fingered about until he could pull from it the brilliant silver arrow that, for a long time, he'd nestled the hope of personal absolution within. A sigh left him, and half of a sour laugh, as he twirled it in a slow circle through his nimble fingertips.
"I truly thought," he quietly remarked, "that I could define my own life by the one that I took with this shot. What a jester I've become."
Then, he sat the arrow against the string of his bow, drew it with a wooden creak and a mist of magic, and fired it into the sun.
On the sea somewhere in the middle latitudes, there within a fleet of highly ornate ships from a distant land strode a fair galleon vessel through the calm waters under the intense equatorial sun. Down below the deck of the ship, Shyrrik tugged at his collar and wiped the sweat off of his neck, but could not find respite from the sweltering heat even in the shadows of the hold. His hair was clumped and matted to the sides of his face, looking none too elegant, and he'd long since abandoned his heavy leather cloak which threatened to suffocate him. He felt entirely like stripping off every last article sticking to his skin, but the regular influx of crewmen inspecting cargo and doing their general shiply work might not've taken to that idea quite so nicely, especially seeing that he'd nested himself for a while on top of their grain stores. Nothing in this hold was susceptible to degeneration from high temperatures, which suggested to Shyrrik that their destination would provide him with very little relief from the weather.
But, he already knew this. When he'd been cornered by a pair of foreign emissaries while on patrol across the border of the great divide, their lustrous red regalia turned him to a faint point in the past when he'd had words with a dignitary from a place he'd only read about, far off the Mindosian mainland into areas unaffected by the recent troubles. The couriers had been quite insistent, and while they would not name their liege and only spoke in the name of the country, Shyrrik had a fairly firm idea of whom it was that so convincingly beckoned him. His current status resonated in his own mind with interest, for he was now a diplomat of some respectable rank, and this voyage consequently held some level of objective validity, even if he didn't believe that to be true. He'd thought at first that his position within the Cheolian bureaucracy was sparse knowledge – he certainly didn't make a habit of discussing it with those he met – but his reputation had grown far beyond his own ability to control it, and now others were able to derive his associations (and his whereabouts) through the same channels that he once used to glean what he'd thought to be secret information. Nothing doing about that, he supposed.
Sitting up with a great and miserable moan, he trudged his way back up to the deck, for the humidity was making him ill and the fresh ocean air seemed promising. Stepping into the blinding noon sun, he squinted and felt about the last few rungs to climb to surface near the ship's edge. He licked his lips, for in their elven fragility they had fallen sunburnt and irritated, and he had not the ointments on his person to remedy it. The salty sea spray, however, only aggravated his nausea, and a long bend over the bulwarks saw him vacate the contents of his stomach into the sapphire waters. He coughed, spit up, and clutched his temples while leaning pitifully on his folded arm, decidedly wretched.
At his back, one of the couriers who'd fetched him approached and offered his sympathies. He was an elf of mature age, dressed sumptuously in bright and fiery colors with the insignia of his house displayed plainly on his chest. Not at all dressed for the weather himself, he looked particularly comfortable, hands clasped properly in front of him.
"Apologies, my Lord, if the galley's cooking hasn't settled well in your stomach."
"I have heatstroke." Shyrrik said drowsily with aggravation on his tongue, as well as the rancid taste of vomit which begged another spitting into the sea.
"I'd heard that rangers of your caliber were rather adept at braving harsh conditions, would that have been a frilly myth?" He bent a bit, seeming to challenge Shyrrik's mettle a little more firmly than polite conversation ought to have allowed for.
"It's been three days," the half-elf shot back venomously, "and I find your ship to be a most foreign environment."
"That is fair, my Lord." The elf said with concession. "We were instructed by our dispatchers to ensure that you were able to withstand the elements, specifically heat."
"This is a diplomatic visit." Shyrrik questioned, suddenly suspicious.
"Yes, it is." The elf cryptically confirmed. As he did so, he reached out and touched Shyrrik's arm. A gentle pulse of blue light swirled around his hand, which flowed into Shyrrik, and the ranger's next breath was a cool and frosted one that misted out in to the hot sea air before him. Finding equilibrium and regaining the resolve to stand, he wet his lips reflexively, only to find that they were healed of their chapped skin and burning pain. With his ailments mended, he was left in clear focus of just how peculiar this had all become.
The ship docked the next morning in the harbor of a grand and magnificent port town inside a bustling bay with vessels berthed so close to one another that they were nearly on top of each other. Shyrrik tipped his way down the gangplank in his best baron's clothes, which he begrudingly scratched at and twisted around in while led along by his captors. He'd been informed that the party interested in his presence had been kind enough to journey from the nation's capital, and if nothing else, it pleased the archer to know that he wouldn't have to travel any further in the unholy heat when the spell wore off.
Their destination, a small statehouse in a secluded section of a far less busy district, had Shyrrik idly wondering if he was going to be the proud recipient of a dagger in the liver – he reassured himself that he was not of enough clout for such a thing to make a lick of sense, but he kept his eyes active nonetheless.
"Shambling through the back door like common brigands, are we?" He made brusque mention of as they forewent entry through the forward archways. They'd slithered unseen round to the back entrance, and as his escorts placed themselves properly on either side of the door, he curiously noted that it seemed like they were preparing for a breach. The elven mage lifted the metal handle, and no sooner had the door swung free of its recess than a strong and sudden wave of wind swung it forcefully open, impacting with a blast against Shyrrik's body and causing him to buckle. The wave was hot, fiercely so, and the air he sucked in reflex replaced the cool air in his lungs with a horrid burning, singing his throat and causing him a great wheezing and coughing. He looked down at himself; the loose threads of his clothing had ignited and burned down to the rest of the fabric. The smell of smoke and sulfur wafted about, and as Shyrrik regained his footing to cautiously make his entrance, he found himself as apprehensive as ever about this endeavor.
And as he was shut in by his envoys amid only the pitiful light of a single window, there among the various furnishings was something that, against all circumstance, sent a shiver through his back. For sitting at a small meeting table on the far side of the room was the ethereally pulsing form of a young elven boy who stared out at Shyrrik from his blood-red eyes with a deathly vacancy, faintly illuminating his surroundings with the throb of a subtle light that implied a power in him none too subtle at all. Even within the shadows cast by his long goldenrod hair, Shyrrik could see his eyes glowing with menace. The veins near the surface of his neck protruded and shined like rivers of magma, reaching up around his jaw and cheeks as hellish tentacles giving him the visage of a demon. His left ear, what should've been long and elegant as the other, was missing its extremity, and Shyrrik could see that the stub of it ended in a smoldering ember and ash. And every so often, a burning aura shone around him in the likeness of an electric flame, washing over him like waves of heat over a charred log. After a long and meaningful silence, the boy spoke, his voice grating and sibilant.
"You are the last man to ever offer me wisdom of any use," he said with the sinister vainglory of a devil, "so now I ask of you, what manner of justice makes a whore of this world?"
And, of many things that gripped Shyrrik just then, the one that overtook him so inexplicably in that moment was the distinct sense of sadness.
Within sight of the great divide, rain gently fell between the treeline and the crumbling wall of bedrock and soil that rose when the scar turned the land up in a till. The rainwater had eroded the large slopes of earth for weeks, deteriorating them into a muddy slush that flowed down toward the Iskask forest, coating the ground for hundreds of feet in a murky brown color that smothered the grass and, when it had intermittently dried, gave the appearance of a strip of desert waste, a no man's land separating the shelter of the woods and the frightful unknown. Here now, the mud cascaded down the hill in a wave to flow into the pools of oily blood around the broken bodies of monsters made of flesh, or pour into the charred craters of those who were born a bit closer to hell. Demon carcasses littered the open field in multitude, their black and red stains interrupted only by the footsteps of Shyrrik, who trudged slowly through the muck and carnage, eerie in his solitude among the silence save for the soft pelting of raindrops. Caked in dirt, soaking in rain, blood, and sweat, he dragged himself wearily through the half-sunken bodies toward the sanctuary of the forest, passing by corpses of all shapes and sizes. The menagerie of creatures escaping the barrier was, if nothing else, fascinating.
He was in pain, and sauntered with a limp. Something had tagged him on his left leg, and he wasn't sure what, but he'd paid it no mind up until now when it was all that remained to give focus to. There'd been many monsters, he thought, too many to go and vengefully pursue the one who'd scratched him up. Putting himself down on a nearby tree root, he massaged the damaged muscles and let out a frustrated sigh through his teeth, then sifted through his things to find a stalk of ginger root to gnaw upon and calm his nerves. On the notion of Kraytol's special blessing, he'd been very much of the idea lately that he would 'use it when he needed it', a degree which naturally never came about for him. But as he retrieved a bandage from within his satchel and wrapped it around his wounded limb, he was forced to recognize that this was not a testament to his own strength, but rather lingering of his old, conservative ways. He'd not moved past being a woodsman, not in habit and not in mind; worse than that, perhaps, he'd not matured through his tendency to prefer isolation. He'd felt just like he did a decade ago, without purpose or direction. This troubled him, which made his constitution worse…which resulted in this.
Satisfied with the woefully unsanitary job he'd done tending to his injury, he reached again in amongst his belongings, fishing from within a number of small and featureless stones, which he placed in a circle at the base of tree. In the middle of these, he carefully set a wooden crest in the image of a unicorn, then fell back to sit upon his legs in a submissive kneel. He put his gloved hands together, closed his eyes, and nodded on in tribute to the one that touched his spirit those many months ago. Shyrrik had never been a religious man, having certainly never prayed, and was unsure whether he offered these pledges out of obligation or a true appreciation for something that had once happened to him and had largely now been forgotten. He wondered if this was the sort of dilemma that the pious man grappled with all his life, for as it had been since he'd first lowered his head for the god he'd so intimately known, there was no inkling of a presence. He'd often thought that to be a ruler or a deity was a thankless role, but only recently had he discovered just how thankless it often felt to be a servant. Lo and behold, he received recognition for his prostrating – but not from a god.
"To whom do you pray, Shyrrik?"
Suddenly aside him, hands tucked into his sleeves, was Ragnar, the half-elf who had recruited him into the ranks of the Protectorate so long ago. Even now, the omnipresence of the Protectorate was something of a mystery to Shyrrik, but he again reminded himself that he was not such an obscure woodland hermit as he once was. Shyrrik opened his eyes, staring at the modest shrine he'd fixed for himself.
"No one, it would seem." He said flatly, and began to gather his things.
"Most patrol the scar with a full battalion, and yet I find you here by yourself." Ragnar said. "I'd think you a fool to challenge these demons alone."
Shyrrik sardonically glanced over his shoulder, out through the tree line, gesturing to the slaughtered bodies with his eyes.
"You mean, those dead demons?"
"Hah." The other half-elf snorted incredulously, and took a look back himself. There among the rotting husks was an enormous reptilian creature of intimidating size and form, with smoky gray scales and large, glassy eyes frozen in death; one short step away from true dragonhood. On its back, the chitinous spikes protruding from the undulations of its vertebrae were colored a deep and bloody crimson.
"That? That's a red-crested ironspine you killed."
"Is it?" Shyrrik responded disinterestedly, shoving his effects into his satchel. "I suppose I didn't notice."
"Remind me never to solicit your services on any missions that require lying." Ragnar retorted, jolly in his sarcasm. "But, you have come along nicely, Shyrrik. You are strong, frighteningly so, and I was wise to choose you as my ally."
"Do you have a mission for me?" Shyrrik interrupted. It was perfectly obvious to the both of them that he was asking not for a task, but for a distraction.
"No," Ragnar replied, "nothing of the sort. I'm simply checking in on an illustrious member of our group, whom the whispering winds tell me has fallen somewhat out of sorts."
Shyrrik spit out a noise of dismissal, and strung his bow across his chest, looking ready to avoid what he knew to be an oncoming interrogation.
"Do you seek death, Shyrrik?" Ragnar asked, following after him and keeping within range.
"Your concern is duly noted, spy." Shyrrik bitterly responded, attempting to walk briskly enough to discourage his pursuer, but his leg nagged him.
"Continue to fight these creatures by yourself, and you will meet one that you cannot defeat. You are running toward demons of the flesh to run away from the demons in your mind, surely you see the irony in that!"
"I am not feeling particularly ironic this day, friend, I assure you I am not!"
Shyrrik twisted, splashed his feet forcefully in the rainwater puddles around him, raised his voice, and pointed his finger with malicious accusation. Sapping his will to be restrained was the pain in his leg, and in his heart.
"There are battles fought by men in places where your slithering tendrils do not reach!" He shouted, throwing his hood off of his head, exposing himself to the rain. "Yet here you stand, insistent that I expound upon you tales of my own impotence to allay your bloody sense of obligation! The world at large surely has intimate knowledge of my inner agony but has selfishly decided to exclude you from it, I will be sure to let it know how slighted you feel!"
Ragnar remained patient. "Shyrrik, of any man, you must know that men are not born so that they may suffer. Inviting oblivion upon yourself serves no purpose."
"Oh," Shyrrik said with flamboyant sarcasm, "let us do speak of purpose. I find myself presented with two choices – that the universe dangled the illusion of power before me to lure me from the compartment of my own existential lethargy and chose in all its great wisdom to pull destiny from within my fingers and place it out of reach of my own mortal life for the sake of its own shitting amusement, or that I simply have made myself as gullible as that! For what have I saved in this world? What have I kept pure? A girl whom I swore to protect carved a path to hell in cold-blooded murder before my eyes, I could not stop my two closest compatriots from being defiled, and the one soul I have ever judged fit to inherit a world without war pitied my ineptitude so greatly that he gave his own lif-…"
His voice cracked. The ranger bit the leather around the pad of his thumb in anguish, tried to fill his lungs back up with breath, but stuttered further.
"I can bring death," he said on an unsteady voice, "oh, I can do it well. But I cannot prevent it." The rain ran off of him, his ears and his brow, and chin, leaving dirty, bloody streaks.
Ragnar, with a high brow, allowed him his moment of grief. Yet it seemed he would not tolerate it any further than that.
"Strong you are, Shyrrik, but what a fool you can be. This is not about you. It never was, and it never will be. Despite what you may think, and despite what you have seen, no man or god has made you custodian of this world, and it has never been your burden to take the pains of all men onto your soul so that you may carry on in agony like a living martyr. Do you not believe that you have suffered enough? You are flesh and you are blood, like any other man, and the gods gave to feeling men like you and I a world in which we could feel. You do not pay tribute to the gods by presuming your own life, their creation, to be meaningless and without worth. Whatever it is that you pray to, has it not occurred to you that what it wants most for you is for you to be happy?"
Shyrrik had become bewildered. He touched his own face, then eyed his hands, as if he could scarcely believe they were his own. Wavering, he fell into a humiliated kneel, and leaned forward onto both of his hands. Ragnar, unsure if he'd made the desired impression, sighed and turned himself to profile.
"Maybe I'm the fool. But I do know this, there is no war to be fought here, not for a long time. I want you to go home Shyrrik, or find a place that you can call a home, and simply be."
He strode away into the forest, as Shyrrik began to weep. The rain had stopped.
In a town on the eastern Undjask plains, the sudden descent of the allied Mindosian army had both simpleton and soldier scurrying about in errancy and confusion. No one had been prepared for the continent to be so justly divided as it had been, and with contact to the east soundly cut, both the government and the military grappled with the logistics of restoring order as well as weeding out any remaining sects of Amrit's forces emboldened enough to offer further resistance. Scouts had been dispatched to survey the damage caused by the upheaval, reconnoiter the surrounding cities, and speculate losses. The scar had not neatly woven its way through the land like a vein to the inconvenience of no one, but had cut right through villages and military encampments on its path to separate the Mindosian continent into halves, devouring many such inhabited places indiscriminately and wholly. It had taken days before word of what had transpired in the cavern between Amrit and his accosters had spread to the greater majority. Victory had not come without its toll.
Shyrrik stepped down from the cart he rode upon and put his boots to the cobblestone inside the modest city center, paying his shepherd a fair sum to brave the chaos of the open plains in this tumultuous time. Demons and desperate fools alike, it was not a period of safety for the lone traveler, with all local ordinances forbidding unsolicited transit until the forces that were could establish secure lines of communication and enterprise. Here aid the riverfront town's most impressive block, not a single soul stood idly on his heels. Officers barked commands to their inferiors, who shouted those same orders down onto their own subordinates, who then scuttled about in an aimless fuss while trying to pull sense from where without. Citizens dodged and weaved in between the passing regiments, their mousey footfalls drowned out by the cacophonic ruckus, while others that clearly possessed no direction at all were still seen to scurry to and fro in a bemused panic, unsure of what to do with themselves at all but finding themselves seized just the same by the air of hysteria. Shyrrik elbowed his way through the disorganized horde, inconspicuous in his normal cloak and adornments, but he was nonetheless perceptive of the whispers that revealed him.
That's him…
The eagle-eyed huntsman…
I'll bet he's the one who slayed the witch…
Shot her right in two, he did…
He did not spare the time to right them. There was only one person he'd come to a place like this to see.
Most of the village accommodations had be commandeered by various ranking military officials as they scrawled out staging operations and took inventory of their resources. Even the town inn was bare of drunks and whose-its, filled instead with the heavy thud of armored soles against the weary wood floor as soldiers and their superiors funneled in and out, exchanging information and orders. The ornery howling of directives was loud and constant, but one voice rang present and clear above all others in its confident regaling of all those in the tavern enlisted to its demands. Bustling busily about was a familiar half-elf beauty, done up as if the war waited just outside the doorstep, orating brashly and winding her way from table to table, checking figures and hearing useful words from those who brought their reports back from the field. Grabbing a man by the collar of his plate armor who might've amounted to two of her, she waved a finger in his face and supplicated him none too shyly for further tabulations. The inn was in utter bedlam, but she seemed to be making sense of things.
All of this was admired by Shyrrik as he stood just within the doorway, silently observing. It took a fair while for anyone to break focus long enough to recognize his presence, and even here he was surprised at the reaction he was able to produce with a mere show of the face when the lot of soldiers spun their heads his way and abruptly stood in reverence of him.
"Commander Shyrrik!" They disjointedly cried. This tickled him; he was no officer of any sort. Laelia turned herself around with a look that could only be described as murderous.
"Comma-…oh, I know that I won't be hav-…you will all be grabbing your seats about now, you will!" She barked, shortly unable to finish a sentence in her fluster, and suffice it to say her men shrank timidly back into their chairs without an objection or a further word to return to their work. Then she turned on her heels toward the man who had so boldly inserted himself into her element, tapping her foot and seeming very much like an agitated cat.
"I see you survived your spat with the big, bad hobgoblin, Mister Fancybow. Now, what is it that I can be doin' for y-"
Her bravado was curtailed suddenly when Shyrrik strode to her, cocked his fist back, and deposited it soundly into the muscles of her left shoulder.
"G'wuh!" Came her strangled cry as she recoiled, staggered back a step, and pulled a look of utter bewilderment from a store of quite a few warring emotions. As if in sympathy, the bar fell gravely quiet, soldiers stunned into silence and mouths hanging stupidly agape. Her befuddlement soon turning to outrage, she shot her arms straight down and fumed at him with a nose-kinking snarl.
"You…stupid…idiot!" She growled out, unable to form a more potent string of insults. "You don't just trot your merry way up and hit a gir-"
There may have been some justice in the way that she was abbreviated once again when the ranger's hand cupped her in the small of her back to lead her on into his lips that came covering her own. And she was taken aback, so much so that she nearly stumbled and braced herself against the table at her rear, the other hand flat at his chest, staring at him with wide eyes through nearly the entire duration of his promptless kiss. When he separated, the way her lips came after him in yearning left her embarrassed and aflush, mouth left just scarcely open and deeply breathing. There did arise, here and there, a knowing little snicker of approval from their audience. And when the ranger made to sweep her up behind the knees, bringing her against the breadth of him in a ginger carry, those snickers turned to a raucous hooting and hollering with men banging their weapons on tables and kicking their boots unto the floor underfoot, sending the two of them with applause into the bed of privacy.
The clamoring of urgent business continued into the evening hours, rumbling through to the inn's second floor as a dull roar, which a pair of half-elves quietly listened to in their tranquil luxury. Laelia sat upon the sheets' edge, serenely smiling and brushing softly down the tousle of her hair, while Shyrrik lay near to her, eyeing her unabashedly. The girl would eventually want her clothes, but Shyrrik found her hand and kept her near, much to her amusement.
"Again?" She purred. "I have my obligations, lecherous man. I cannot lie in bed forever." But Shyrrik seemed austere.
"If I go to Cheolia, will you come with me?" He softly bid her.
Her lengthy pause was appropriate, for he'd just asked so much with so little. Turning to see him more directly, she raised her knee and hugged her arms about it, unafraid to look him in the eye.
"So, the wanderer wishes to wander no longer?" She curiously wondered.
"I don't know," he admitted, "but if you are with me, I will stay."
"Then you are still the vagabond prince of the trees, yet it seems as though you are penning the last pages of your own story." She wove her way through his implications. "This lady archer of fortune has more of her own tale to weave."
"I am not an idle man." Shyrrik said. "Do you believe that it would be so dull and listless, to be my wife?"
She softly sifted through his bangs, kissed him on his brow, and gently traced the length of his long ear. "Wedding you would not be a sentence."
"In the meantime, do not undermine me in front of my men again, and I will think on it. Provided you make the next hour very convincing…"
An ocean away from the Mindosian continent, the sun was high and shining in the sky with hardly a cloud to be seen, beating down favorably upon the Cheolian people, but especially upon those serving the house of Illan in Hybourne. And it was certainly not that Cheolia had escaped all tumult in these chaotic weeks and months, but having been spared the same magnitude of devastation, many of the island states had managed some semblance of normalcy, even tranquility. The house of Illan was lively with the busy movement of its residents and its servants, servants of all kinds rushing about in good economy to tend to their daily duties. In the year past, the mansion had fallen grey and its fields turned brown with neglect, the inhabitants unable to preserve the necessary numbers to maintain it. Now, though, it was lush and green, bright and optimistic, brimming with life and the vitae responsible for it. Groundskeepers washed the soil from the sides of the stone facades and trimmed any branches, fronds, or tendrils of shrubbery to keep the manor in homely, presentable shape, while stewards scrubbed floors and windows, dusted about and beat rugs to cleanliness outside. Man and beast turned the dirt up, followed closely by women and children who nestled seeds into the fresh earth. Ushers and family consultants fled on their toes to keep pace with their busy schedules, while guards stood as motionless statues and watched them pass.
The Lady Shyrron would have liked to enjoy such a gorgeous afternoon most certainly; an afternoon walk always did wonders for one's perspective. But, like the serfs, she had her own responsibilities to tend to, which among other things included conducting business with lords and state officials, and this would keep her cooped up in front of a long, oaken desk for the better part of the day, surrounded by dusty old lords who were simply no fun at all. Presently, she was entertaining the neighboring baron and his business propositions related to the exchange of ore and grain. The islands having developed independently as historians would have everyone believe, some were suited to grow crops, and others were more rich with useful minerals, so these meetings were common. All parties involved sat in a circle among each other, the Lady's advisors at her sides, and the visiting baron's at his. Prattling on about the seasons, quibbling over the price of equipment, speculating in futures, it was all very humdrum, and as the beautiful sun outside drew her thoughts out into daydreams, it drew her focus away from the table.
"Beg your pardon, Lady Shyrron?" Queried the baron from across the table.
"…Ah, what? Oh dear, I am dreadfully sorry, it is quite difficult to scheme of how to swindle you out of your britches on such a glorious afternoon." She said graciously with a smile, removing her chin from her palm.
"Ha'hah!" The white-haired aristocrat had himself a jolly guffaw. "Blessed be the seasons, I just might let you, for I am in a righteous mood, I am! It is a fine time for all Cheolians, we are plentiful and without want." He grinned a cheshire grin, dimpling his round and pink-colored cheeks with his old elf ears in a subtle curl.
"Yes…yes, I believe we are." The Lady replied, distracted by herself.
A young servant came to the Lady's side just then, presenting a message into her ear, at which she smiled much more genuinely and sent him away.
"Baron," she spoke, "it seems that I have a visitor. Please walk with me, I will humor our guest and we can continue our discussion outside, for I cannot spend another moment indoors!"
Exiting the assembly hall, the two exchanged brief words before arriving into the foyer. It was a vast and elegantly sculpted room, furnished with dark woods and finely crafted brass pieces over an iridescent marble floor with large, round columns in regular intervals. There came a great knocking at the entry doors, and a pair of guards lifted the heavy walnut slab that sealed them to let them swing open into the manor. The sun poured brightly in a white glow as they divided and beamed into the sensitive elven eyes that watched as a tall figure with long hair in a flowing cloak appeared first as a dark silhouette with his escort in tow, then took definitive shape as her son, Shyrrik, hero of the Mindosian front and none too meager a man on this side of the pond as well. Lady Shyrron glowed with a bit of maternal pride, and in a small moment of vanity she'd meant to show her him off to her fellows.
"Gentlemen, this is my son, Shyrrik." She said with the touch of proper accent that highlighted his name in its intended way, announcing him with a high voice. "He is fresh in from across the waters, and he bri- oh!"
Her boasting prematurely concluded, she found herself in her son's arms, who'd not kept the distance between them and pressed himself to her much in the way that sons did to their mothers. Taller than she, he wrapped himself around her shoulders, pushing his cheek aside her head and tucking his face down, holding onto her dearly and desperately. Though taken aback at first, her motherly inclinations forgave all formality, and she slid her arms upon his back and embraced him with half a century's worth of love. Her pristinely pampered hair and immaculately arranged clothing were put into a tousle, but she cared not, and sat her forehead to his shoulder in comfort as mother and son.
"I have missed you so." Shyrrik said in a way that showed great relief, stoking such a beautiful happiness within her that was as plain as the shining sun.
"Do you plan to silence all of womankind with your tripe, Shyrrik?" Came the sass of a voice from somewhere behind him.
The ranger let himself loose from his mother, smiled handsomely at arm's length, and stepped aside from her view to reveal the cocked hips and audacious grin of his female counterpart, who looked on with her ever-mocking, ever-loving eyes. Just past her, obediently waiting outside the doors, was the great and imposing figure of his wolf, sat patiently in the grass with his big bottlebrush tail dusting about excitedly behind him that nearly swept a nearby guard right from his feet. This made the Lady Shyrron curl her fingers against her chin, her joy evident to all those in the room, including her associates. The baron smiled with his hands on his waist, having borne witness to all of this with great amusement, and his round belly shook with laughter.
"I believe a recess is in order," he announced to his own, "we may resume in the evening."
The afternoon sun was just as generous a time later when Laelia stood out before the manor, past the border of the untrimmed reeds, pulling her bow in a modest draw. She let an arrow fly for a short distance, sinking its head into the dirt and grass with a dull thud, the impact putting its long stalk into a sway with the wind on the waving cattails. This picturesque sight was interrupted with the skidding arrival of the running wolf whose claws tore divots into the soil and sent clods flying carelessly about. He grabbed the arrow in his massive jaws and turned to bound back with his heavy, yet graceful, steps sending tremors into the ground that Laelia could plainly feel. He stopped before her, rearing much like a horse with his enormous paws out, and then settled lowly so that she could retrieve the "stick" from him and ruffle his golden-frosted mane and ears, tell him he was a good boy, before sending him running once again with another shot out into the distance.
From a balcony overlooking the property to the east, Shyrrik leaned upon the stone rail before him and observed this with a small smile. His mother, as well, found the sight very charming, and watched with him. They were warmed by the light and the enthusiasm in the air, and without conflict, Shyrrik could feel the apprehension and tightness in his body leaving him down through his toes, which he curled inside his boots.
"I fled so quickly after we first met. I will not be rushing away from you this time." Shyrrik said.
"You've brought a woman and a dog with you, I'd say your intentions were fairly clear." Lady Shyrron teased him.
"If I'd been your son only two years prior to this, you'd share my amazement at such a prospect." He huffed, and pushed up off of the railing.
"I believe the motherly thing to say would be that I feel as if I've 'known you your whole life'." She chose to refrain from condescending to him. "But I do not know my son. To have a chance to know you is a blessing unlike any other, and I thank any god that will take credit for bringing us together."
She looked to him. "You are very much unlike your father. He was a wild and boisterous man, but sweet, and in my youth I found him captivating. You are quiet, and stern."
"I was raised well, by a good man in an unpleasant place. I have always been a thinker, a right miserable one at times, and I might've let the world pass me by entirely had I not met that woman, Aedra. My circumstances since have made me a better man, and…um…"
He watched as Laelia struggled with all her might to dislodge her cloak from inside the wolf's mouth, who was very insistent on taking it as his own and grappled with her with a playful growl. She slapped him over his ears and dispensed every foul word she'd picked up from the sailors on the voyage over, while Shyrrk scratched his ear.
"She'll be fine." He said, and Lady Shyrron laughed.
"I am vested in this life, now." Shyrrik said with confidence. "For a long time, I think the world was unsure of what to do with me. I am ready to be a son, a lover, and a leader."
"You have spent your whole life in a place far away from here," his mother offered, showing concern, "can you be happy in Hybourne, Shyrrik?"
Shyrrik thought for a moment.
"I believe I have the power to be happy anywhere. But, here is nice."


text:
It was my birthday a couple of weeks ago, and Ashley and I went out for a celebratory lunch to The Elephant in Torquay – a lovely restaurant which, somewhat incongruously considering its location (Torquay is a sad shadow of its former Victorian self these days) has a Michelin star.
I don't have any pictures of the interior, but the design is fab – a mix of seaside kitsch and colonial glamour. Which sounds awful but somehow works. We had a nice table in the window, although it was drizzling and misty outside – well, it was August in the UK, what did I expect?!
We had the set menu, which was good value at £16.95 for three courses, accompanied by a nice bottle of white wine. There were two choices for each course.
To start, Ashley had mussels with crusty bread, which were delicious and plentiful, with a very flavoursome cream sauce.
I opted for the goats cheese salad with green onion oil, which was tasty, but rather lacking in goats cheese (it was underneath the salad, rather oddly, but there wasn't very much of it!).
For main course we both chose the hake, which was easily the nicest fish dish I've eaten this year, accompanied by a side order of green beans in pesto. As an aside, this dish prompted me to purchase some samphire later than day when I happened to see it in Tesco, as I'd enjoyed it so much on the hake, but when I cooked it, it was inedible as it was so salty. Anybody cooked samphire – any tips?
For pudding, Ashley chose this chocolate tart, which looked and tasted a lot better than my crap photograph would have you believe!
I'm not a big pudding person, so I went for my usual choice when eating out: cheese and biscuits.
All washed down with a very nice bottle of Pouilly Fume. Quite delicious.
And as a final quirky touch, the bill comes with a stick of seaside rock.
Going out for lunch with Ashley on a weekday felt really decadent, and was a really nice birthday treat. Unfortunately, the ensuing walk around the harbour and the shops gave me hideous blisters as I'd worn a thoroughly unsuitable pair of shoes – car to bar shoes, as my friend calls them!


text:
Roasting on an Open Fire
S J Smith
Rating: Teen…ish?
Summary: Hakkai can't take it any more.
Disclaimer: Trust me, I can barely spell bishounen, much less draw them.
Dedicated to Mjules, who wanted…well, this story.
It had been too long of a day. Far, far too long. The rain that had struck shortly after they left that last town in the morning hadn't been hard enough to seek shelter but just hard enough to soak everything. Goku had eaten something that made him develop gas - and Gojyo complained about it even after Sanzo shot at him. Twice. Goku was miserable enough, clutching his stomach and making sounds appropriately obnoxious enough to go with the smells, though he wasn't actually dying - Hakkai wasn't sure if there was a way to kill Goku, really - so Sanzo insisted they keep driving.
By the time they outpaced the rain, everyone's tempers were frayed almost to the point of snapping (Hakkai was sure they'd already snapped and had considered letting his own inner demon come out to play, too, but refrained. Someone in this group had to have good manners.)
The cave wasn't much but at least it remained dry from the soaking the rest of the land received. It had obviously been used by travelers in the past, based on the stockpile of wood and a badly scrawled note on the wall with the word, "spring" and an arrow pointing. Fortunately, Goku's gastric distress had dissipated along with the rain, otherwise Hakkai thought the boy would've been tossed outside to face the night alone.
It took some time and far too much grousing and threats from the fan and the pistol before everyone was mostly settled for the rest of the night. Suggestions of poker and mah jongg were shot down as rapidly as Goku's suggestions of a game of charades. When Sanzo threatened to fill Gojyo full of holes, Hakkai stood up, showed all his teeth in the most polite smile he could, and said, "Enough. You are all acting like children. And as such, you're to be punished."
"What?" Goku's eyes went round.
Sanzo sneered. "You can't be serious."
Gojyo smirked. "What do you have in mind?"
Hakkai shot them a glare. "Each of you go outside and get a green switch." When they hesitated, he barked, "Now!" taking secret glee in the fact they scattered.
While they were outside, Hakkai went to his pack, pulling out his secret weapon to fight the gloom - a bag of puffed marshmallows. Somehow, he thought the night might turn out to be okay.


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I have made a great magic and dragon heavy campaign for 4 Players starting at level 1. I have made the characters already and I am looking for 4 people to join our group. We have a Necromancer/Wizard, Holy Cleric, Dirty Fighter and Rogue/Ranger. If interested please let me know what day of the week is best for you.
Hi man, I'd love to play the wizard, or another character if you don't mind. I'm open as to day.
0 · March 16, 2014
I'm good for Wednesdays, but I am also good for Friday, as someone has also said. And I'm a pretty good choice for a healer, so I'd love to.
Modern Myths is closer, and I don't think renting the room out is that much...I do know they do special events, but we'd have to ask.
0 · March 13, 2014
Hey guys, is there a certain day that you guys can meet up? Does anyone have a problem me hosting it at my house? We can play as late as you guys want and don't need to purchase anything. I have decided to do the Kingmaker adventure path because it gives you guys the choose of becoming kings and stuff. I can play at nights from 7:30 on. until whenever. I have a Barbarian, Rogue/Ranger, Bard, Druid (girlfriend), and I can create a wizard or no wizard and have a healer. What do you guys think?
0 · April 3, 2014
If you can change the day, I would like to give Pathfinder a try. Wed and Thurs are out for me. After this week, my weekends are flexable. Modern Myths, Clarkson's Corner are both good spaces for gaming. There is a store called Spider's Web in Yonkers near the raceway that is small but usually empty. I'd like to try the Necro if you can fit me into your game.
0 · March 13, 2014
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|Photo Credit
Our week:
Monday: Social Studies
Next, we built a city with blocks, much like the city of Geoppolis used in Burton's illustrations. I printed off a compass and we played a simple game to reinforce the concept of direction: I called out which direction to move "Katy" (OK, so it was a Bob the Builder toy), and Ben had to use the compass to help Katy plow out that side of town.
I will admit that we tried to build the town using toothpicks and marshmallows before resorting to blocks, but strangely the marshmallows kept disappearing so we eventually gave up and ate them all. Still, very fun activity and well worth the time (and calories).
|(Doing school in our jammies with awesome bedhed.)
Tuesday: Language Arts
We talked about personification today, and I sent the kids scouring through magazines and our sticker collection for examples of personification. Considering the fact that they had to first have a concept of what is "living vs. not living," rather than "fictional" (trust me, this doesn't seem so much like semantics when you're explaining the difference to a five year old who wants to put a picture of a dragon talking on his collage because they aren't real) we did quite well.
|We let the TV comic addition slide because the reasoning was quite good: "TVs aren't living and still it's talking! That's personification!" Well, close enough for me! :)
OK, truth. We did absolutely nothing for school on Wednesday. See The Importance of Nothing post if you'd like more info on that.
Thursday: Math
We kept math simple this week and focused mainly on counting. We counted telephone poles, horses, buildings (that took a while!) and lots of other things with the younger children.
We introduced the concept of inches in feet, as well. I got out my homemade felt board and cut up some simple props to introduce the concept of 12 inches being equal to one foot.
|I made the foot lengths double the width of a ruler (so that I could stack up the inch parts on it with blue showing). I made the yellow blocks one inch squares.
|Since the snow in Katy gets to be five feet deep, I cut six "foot" lengths (one extra to stack the one inch blocks on).
|The kids practiced putting twelve inch blocks onto the felt board to equal one foot length.
|We recorded our results on our clipboard.
|We measured out 10 inches onto our graph because that was how much snow Virginia Burton gave Geoppolis. Next, we added 4 inches because that's how much snow we have at our house. Geoppolis had more! :)
|Next, we measured out five feet, marking each foot just as Burton does in the book. "One foot, two feet, three feet..."
|Just to put it all in perspective, we measured how tall we were in relation to the snowfall amounts. The kids were pretty amazed at how tall five feet of snow really was!
|The blue Post-Its on the chart are Ben's height and mine.
Friday: Science
Since we worked on counting and measuring in math, we continued the theme into our science work today. We decided to find out how much water is really in snow, and here's how we did it:
|We took a mason jar outside and collected some snow.
|Then we marked the jar with the level of snow, using a dry erase marker. We measured how many inches we had.
|We had to go to bed before our glass was completely melted (maybe that's a commentary on how cold we keep our house??), but by morning here's how the jar looked. Totally melted!
|The dry erase marker had been rubbed off with all of the measuring that we had done, but using our chart I was able to recreate the important lines. It would seem that it takes just a little water to make a lot of snow!
Other activities we did this week which relate to our row:
Because I don't use separate curricula for all my age groups (I have an infant, a toddler, and a preschool/kindergartner) I use differentiated activities throughout the week to appeal to my younger kids within the context of the FIAR book (which is designed for kids 5-8). (If you have only younger children you may want to check out Before Five In a Row, which is designed for children ages 2-4.) Sometimes this means adapting the planned activities from the lesson book, and sometimes it means creating completely different experiences for my littlest ones. Below are our whole-family approaches to this book.
We were fortunate enough to have a snow storm at the beginning of the week, so we did some dramatic play outside with "Katy-like" props.
|This is a rowing activity for all ages!
|Here's "Katy," plowing the roads!
|Here are a couple of the smaller snow plows getting stuck.
|Here comes "Katy" to rescue the stuck snow plows.
|When she tired of building with marshmallows and toothpicks, Ava worked on coloring some street sign printables. This was appropriate because Burton's illustrations include many road signs. We used this set in our work this week.
|Even little Ellie won't be left out- she colors on, well, everything.
|Ava colors a few more street signs.
|Then she cuts them out (this is great fine motor skill work). We match the signs we can with the book and put the rest in the van to match out on the roads as we drive around town for a little "real world application."
Our last activity was very sciency, but also very artsy: we made Borax crystal snowflakes. Ava couldn't handle the hot glass by herself (her brother was all too happy to take over this task), but she had a grand time bending her pipe cleaners and playing with the final product.
|Make a "snowflake" from pipe cleaners.
|Add Borax to boiling water in a mason jar.
|Stir. (Awesome dinosaur oven mitt courtesy of Uncle Phil.)
|Suspend snowflake from a string tied to a pencil in the solution.
|To the adult eye this may not look like a snowflake (note to self: don't use colored pipe cleaners for this activity!), but to a couple of young kids in my house this is the coolest thing that has ever happened in the history of the world. Seriously.


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Do you know some of your co-workers deepest, darkest secrets? And did you want to know those secrets in the first place? Odds are, somewhere, sometime, you've had a co-worker that has shared a little too much information. Indeed, in this Facebook age, "oversharing" is turning out to be an issue; some employees just seem… Continue Reading
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|Reviews for Teamwork
| ElleStripper chapter 7 . 1/17/2010
hou là j'ai aimé vraiment cette histoire qu'il divertissait très... et votre anglais n'était pas mauvais je ne pourrais pas dire que vous ayez enseigné votre soi anglais que je pense est vraiment frais...lol great story
| Lzay-Niight chapter 7 . 1/14/2010
OK. honestly there was way more het then there was yaoi! seriously i mean the only time were there was yaoi it didn't last that long before it went back to het. this story is more of a NarutoxSakuraxNaruto SasukexSakuraxSasuke and a little bit of NarutoxSasukexNaruto at some part make ir seem like a threesome. :( hopefully the sequel is balanced out more were all of there feeling are equally strong for one another even if they are different! Dx
| Cristalake chapter 6 . 12/12/2009
aw % *sighs in joy* you're giving me warm fuzzies. Man this fic is just as good the second time around. When are oyu going to update TW3
| Cristalake chapter 5 . 12/12/2009
so cute X3 Cutest team severn fic EVER! With a side of lemony and slashy goodness ;p You're a GENIUS! This is the perfect fic
| Catechistic chapter 7 . 11/22/2009
(looks at _-chan adoringly) puh never thought. . . Puh always thought it should be sasunaru-kun but this this sakunarusasu-chami is perfect! Loved how _-chan evaded that big love triangle (even though the triangle still kinda there) but this is beautiful. Puh thinks it ended perfectly here (whines) puh doesn't want a sequel but if _-chan decided to make one Puh would be a dutiful fan and read it.
Oh, more kyuubi in the sequel please! (if _-chan can, of course ;3)
| Thinkingnut chapter 7 . 11/22/2009
I have to say, when I first read this, I was mentally and automatically assigning 'mediocre depth at best' and 'poor insight to characters' as labels of your fanfic. Probably I was thinking 'since this is fan-made, it obviously won't be of a high quality...because... it's fan-made...duh'.
I was wrong.
It's absolutely fantastic how you're able to incorporate an enticing storyline as well as make such a bold concept (ie. the 3some) work! I'm very impressed by your appreciation of the characters' personalities/habits/mentalities. Overall, a very well written story, and might I add that I actually exploded into chuckles when I got to the 'Explosive diaherra' from Kakashi and Jiraiya's entrance.
It's quite amusinng to note that you make the characters so life-like that they seem to become more real and believable than the actual manga/anime depict them to be. I don't know how you did it, but to me, they're almost like people I can touch, see and meet, not just cartoon characters brought to a highly controlled life on TV. I guess you do have an advantage, as you get so much more time to reflect on your actions and the possible consequences in a written story, compared to the relatively pressured atmosphere of a manga/anime, where you always HAVE to be doing something meaningful RIGHT AWAY. But as I've said, great insight into the characters' personalities. They are ALL, and I mean ALL, exactly how I would picture them in real life; especially the minor characters like Hinata and Shikamaru.
A few last words would be: 1. Keep it up. 2. How did you learn to write like that? 3. You must have done a lot of research'. 4. Where do I get the sequels to your stories?
| AllieReade chapter 7 . 11/21/2009
oh, wow! I wish I'd found this story WAY sooner! This story deserves every review it's gotten and more! I absolutely love the story and how they just seem to fit so well together- and having the constant mental picture of Sasuke and Naruto both naked was a definite bonus. I absolutely absolutely adore this story, and I think you did an amazing job combining the hurt/comfort, romance, smex, humor, and everything else into one ginormous and mind-blowing package! Truly, this is one of the best stories I've ever read, and I'm pretty picky when it comes to enjoying stories. I also like how well you've written each character. None of them were so out of character that I couldn't believe that it could ever actually happen. I'm sure that inside, they all could very well actually feel how they felt in this story. And I read in one of your comments that some people only liked one side of the triangle-not true at all for me. Because the characters are all so well written, I didn't have a problem with any of them liking/loving the others of the love-triangle. Namely, Sakura- she was nice and caring with Naruto, even though she likes Sasuke more. I'm also glad that all three of them showed equal amounts of affection consistently through the story- that really helped me to like your story even more. While I'm applauding you for the balance of love, I'll also add that you did a really good job balancing all other aspects of your story as well.
Once again, I can't express how happy this story made me- thank you for writing it!
Now, I am off to read the sequels, prequels, triquels and anything else you've ever written.
This storylove and win.
| TheaBlackthorn chapter 7 . 11/6/2009
An absolutely awesome story - I'm hurrying off to read the next one! :)
| Shizuka Taiyou chapter 7 . 11/3/2009
Can't wait to read the second part.
| Shizuka Taiyou chapter 6 . 11/3/2009
I continue to like this fic.
| Shizuka Taiyou chapter 5 . 11/3/2009
Wow. Them listing all the things for their house is my kind of people.
| Shizuka Taiyou chapter 4 . 11/2/2009
Wow. Can't wait to see Sakura in labor.
| Shizuka Taiyou chapter 3 . 11/2/2009
Loving it now.
| Shizuka Taiyou chapter 2 . 11/2/2009
Oh hell.
| Shizuka Taiyou chapter 1 . 11/2/2009


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In this inaugural episode of Pointed: The CVHR Podcast, host Josh Simpson talks with the founder and Executive Director of the Center for Victim and Human Rights (CVHR) to talk about the concepts behind the CVHR, its mission and operation, and future plans.
The Center for Victim and Human Rights (CVHR) is a 501(c)(3) organization that was established in 2008 with the specific purpose of providing comprehensive legal representation to victims of crime and human rights abuses, who often lack the safety and resources necessary to access available legal remedies.
[ Read More » ]


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Scenic USA - West Virginia
Scenic USA offers a collection of select photographs from a wide variety of attractions, points of interest, historic sites, state and
national parks found throughout the United States. Each photo feature is coupled with a brief explanation.
For further detailed information, links to other related sites are provided.
New River Gorge Overlook
|Photo by Lou Kellenberger
Lou Kellenberger Photography
Dawn's first light casts its subtle hues of lavender over the New River Gorge and a CSX railroad bridge. CSX Transportation owns 70 miles of track that weaves alongside the New River. The New River Gorge remained almost inaccessible until 1873, when the railroad opened up this isolated part of West Virginia. A closer look may reveal a long line of rail-cars beginning a bridge crossing, off to the mines for another load of West Virginia coal.
Copyright ©2007 Benjamin Prepelka
All Rights Reserved