@landonhere

[*827] turned to [*648] and said, "Out of all of you, I've heard the most about your work. Is there anything you've been working on lately?"

[*648] beamed at the request. "As a matter of fact, I have!", he energetically said. He held out one of his talons, over which floated a blue cloud with small, intricately shaped particles floating inside. A faint, almost echo-like sound seemed to be coming from it.

"This is my latest experiment," [*648] said. "This thing taps into the metaphysical connection between the creatures of the universe and our power to receive echoes of creatures' sensations. It can't target specific creatures, but it's a proof of concept!"

A resounding clang suddenly issued from the cloud. [*648] lurched backwards, then leaned into the cloud to listen to the sounds coming from the cloud better. [*827] also listened in. They scrutinized the sensations coming from the cloud for a few minutes.

As the cloud slowly dissipated and the sensations became weaker, [*648] and [*827] drew their heads back, with haunted looks on their faces.

"That . . . was strange . . .", [*648] stammered.

- The Pigeonhole Project

Icelandic Waters: *desires to see a pole plant eat a centiwing*

"It's been a while, but I can assure you that he's doing fine," the [**827] was saying. "I've seen his caretakers doing their rounds. And I've instructed them to inform me in case anything even comes close to happening to him."

The [**] - a [**724] - gazed at the [**827] in disbelief. The news that he had given her held much emotional value to her.

She eventually found her words and said, "Thank you for protecting him so virtuously. I never thought that I'd even hear about him again."

The [**827] bowed to the [**724] and turned to leave, before turning back. "Hold on," he said. "We never introduced ourselves."

- The Pigeonhole Project

The children were the first to notice.

A thump thump thump, thundering deep below the sand.

The first worm split the sky like black lightning as it leapt overhead.

Worm by worm, they rose from the desert. Migrating.

Every storm season, we each hope to be chosen. We arrange ourselves in lines across the desert, arms lifted to the sky.

Anyone may enter the maw.

We are all equal under the great worms.

I've been posting my writings for so long that when I want to share something that is not an original writing . . .

Icelandic Waters: “I fed Slovsko a stick of butter; he's a combat frigate now.”

The [**276], whom the [**724] seemed to be speaking of, lowered his head, charged at me, stopped a few feet shot of me, and stared daggers at me. "You!", he snapped. "You know what you did to the dragons!"

"Cool it, [*276]," the [**974] said. "You haven't interrogated him yet. Give him a chance to show his side of the story before yelling at him."

Without lifting his furious glare from me, the [**276] - who I'm assuming is the one named [*276] - responded, "That dragon was very clear in his report. We already know who we're dealing with here. And you have no say in how I choose to-"

"Listen to her," the [**724] said. "I set [*648] on this task to hear the humans' side of the story, not to have you torture them." She narrowed her eyes slightly and added, "In fact, given the methods that you have used to extract this information," - she further narrowed her eyes - "I believe that it would be suitable let [*974] undertake this task in your place."

[*276] snarled at this passive-aggressive remark, but lifted his aggravated gaze from me and turned away.

- The Mouse Desk Descision

CREATED AT 26846.244

I can't stop dwelling on what I did . . . yesterday? When you can't
see, you have trouble knowing when you're asleep. Not to mention that
I don't know how time is charted in this place, if it's charted at
all. With that out of the way, I think I fell asleep.

I got woken up by the same voice as always, asking if they could do
anything for me. Because of this, I woke up in a bad mood. I told them
to get lost, and I didn't hear back from them.

In hindsight, I wish I had said something different. Not saying
something nicer in response to being pestered; I have no respect for
them. I want the warm-skinned creature to know that I didn't mean to
snap at them. I want to be with them again. They . . . were the only
one I felt any sort of comfort around.

But do I really deserve their respect? I doubtlessly hurt them. They
won't be willing to forgive me for anything that I did. Like I said
earlier, I've doomed myself to the worst possible disposition of this
place. A fate that I deserve.

- But There’s Exceptionally Little Peace Inside This Place

I’ve gotten the idea to spin my name as a shortened version of my internal identity’s name, the Icelandic Water Dragon. However, I don’t really feel like using that name as an actual identity.

We let our guard down, and we paid dearly for it. Hands as strong as
us came to our idyllic homeland and set their sights on ravaging it
and the beings that live within. And yet we remained smug and prideful
as ever. We passed them off as nothing that could not be fended off
with much difficulty. We went easy on them. And in doing so, we failed
our kind.

With their gathered might, they firmly planted themselves in our
homeland. They imposed a presence the likes of which we never could
have seen or expected. They set themselves up for a permanent stay.

But they are not to blame for this.

We are the ones to blame. We are responsible for defending our kind
and our land. We were capable of fending them off. But we failed to
prepare. We lied to ourselves. Because of that, that lie has become a
truth. A painful truth, one that holds firmly to our land and
threatens to shake it to the core.

But I suppose we can pass the blame onto the hands now. Dwelling on
our mistakes and blaming ourselves won't help the situation. But we
must learn from our mistakes.

- The Dragon Thought Archive, 2024.3.21.D

I breathe deeply and say, "I've been taken here against my will. I've been walled off from my homeland. I've been suffering depression all the while. I escaped. I tried to speak out, but I failed. I would have slipped away, had you not stepped in."

"Good, good," the hand says. "Now, who are you? We haven't introduced ourselves."

I think about whether I should tell him, but decide that it wouldn't hurt to share such information. "My name is [*763]," I say. "And you?"

"Josh," the hand says.

That name rests uneasily in my mind. It feels out of the ordinary for a thing of evil to have a name. However, as I got the notion of earlier, maybe this one is different.

I say, "So what are you going to do with me, now that you know so much about me?"

"There's a lot that we want to learn," Josh says, "but we can make a start today."

- More Wars, Bloodier Wars, 2024.2.14.E

The depression is taking me.

I can feel it. At last, it's coming. The relief of escaping from this harsh reality. Into a void of peace. How calming the prospect is.

I sense the presence of [*256]. He's listening to me. He's preparing to ask me to speak my mind. And I will.

"Welcome me with open arms," I say.

[*256] does not immediately respond. He must be examining and judging me, drawing his own conclusions on whether I am too battered to return to reality.

"What do you mean?", he says.

I mentally jolt. That's not the voice of [*256]. That's the voice of the hands of cruelty! I'm not on the verge of peace. I'm still trapped!

"What . . . You, you . . .", I stammer.

"What is the matter?", the hand says. "You said you were depressed. I want to help you."

"I was . . . I almost escaped from you," I say. "But you . . . You are keeping me from my well-deserved peace of mind!"

"I'm not so cruel as to let you die in depression. I honestly want to help you however I can," the hand says. "Open your eyes if you can."

I open my eyes, and immediately say, "And what is your point? You're just like any other hand of cruelty."

"Speak your mind. Tell me what's been pent up in you," the hand says. "Let your emotions out."

These words give me pause. This is exactly how I would imagine [*256] speaking. And the fact that a hand of cruelty is saying it . . . Maybe, just maybe, he has good intentions.

- More Wars, Bloodier Wars, 2024.1.14.E

How to tell that I'm dabbling in my favorite kind of content:

“Wait, was he on the list?” *scrolls down*

“. . . ok, good.”

*casually drops my phone as if he wasn't on the list*

*10 seconds later, accidentally rams knee into the wall* “Oops.”

[*276]: Whoa, whoa. Are you saying that the CREATURE said all that?

[*648]: The transliteration resources I used seemed solid enough. If I
had used the wrong data, I would have found out before I had finished
converting the entire transcript.

[*256]: Very interesting . . .

[*276]: I'm going to have to trust you on that. You were the only one
with the data, after all.

[*724]: Thank you. I'll schedule a meeting to discuss these findings.

[*974]: Is there anything I can do in the meantime?

[*724]: Unless everyone agrees here and now, we can't take any
immediate action. I suggest that you save your suggestions for the
meeting.

[*974]: But the creature said what they needed very clearly. They need
our attention. Why can't we just act on what they want from us?

[*724]: The meeting agenda won't take very long to compose. You can
wait.

[*974]: Fine.

- The Air Is Exceptionally Still…, 2024.2.20.B

Jeremy starts to slowly walk into the room. He stands next to Josh and asks him, “Why is there a dragon in here?”

I smile and say, “Hello.”

“Whoa!”, Jeremy shouts, reeling backward. “How is this thing talking?”

I keep smiling and explain. “That file that got sent out earlier today. That’s how I’m talking to you.” I remember the priorities of this phase of the plan. Break as much ice as possible without exposing too much.

“Wow,” Jeremy says. “But how did you . . .”

I consider his question incomplete enough that he wouldn’t mind if I didn’t answer it. “My name is [*974],” I say, holding out one of my talons, “and it is a pleasure to meet you.”

Jeremy looks at my outstretched talon and says, “Do I . . .” He then answers his own question, holds my talon and shakes it.

-= writing shelved

- The Saga of [*974], 2024.4.2.C

I casually walk into the room. This seems to be some sort of break room. Hopefully this is the kind of room where I can put the final part of my plan into effect. I climb onto a couch, curl up, and try to look like I’m sleeping.

A few minutes later, I hear the door open. I expect to hear a gasp, but instead, I hear, “[*974]? What have you been doing?”

I open my eyes. It’s Josh. I say, “There you are. I was wondering if you were going to show up. Now we can put the final part of the plan into motion.”

“I was wondering why you’ve been drawing so much attention!”, Josh says. “There’s no way that the stuff you’re doing is going to fly under the radar!”

“It doesn’t need to go unnoticed,” I say. “In fact, the last part of the plan takes us into the spotlight.”

As if on cue, the break room door is opened by another [LOCALE] agent. Josh looks at them and says, “Jeremy? Uhh . . .” He turns to me and whispers, “We didn’t plan for this!”

“Just keep looking bewildered!”, I whisper back.

“. . . you might want to see this,” Josh finishes.

- The Saga of [*974], 2024.1.4.C

Meanwhile, [*974] was still at it, knocking down [*276]‘s arguments one by one. “Third argument,” she said. “If [*738] has no skill in his role, that’s our fault. As the only ones who know how to use our powers, it’s our responsibility to teach [*738] how to use his.”

For the first time in the meeting, [*276] came up with something that sounded like a counter-argument. “We can’t teach him how to use his powers if we don’t know what his powers are!” he said. “And even if we did, who would have the time to do it?”

“I have the time,” [*974] said. “And I would love to do it.”

“And I believe that I have an idea of what his powers are.” [*724] added. “He gave me a notion of intuition. He told me something about one of you, something that he could not have known without preexisting knowledge. He may be some some sort of-”

[*276] gave a ferocious growl. Strike three. All of his points struck down. Nobody on his side. His collimated wrath started to condense in him. In a fit of rage, he brought himself level with [*724], curled his claws and yelled, “Well, you won’t have to worry about wasting time teaching that creature to use its powers in a minute!” He lunged at [*738]’s head.

[*738], [*724], [*974] and [*648] all screamed and froze in fear.

- [*738]’s Judgement Day, 2023.12.27.C

(I feel like I should say something to clarify that this writing isn’t meant to be dark. [*276] and [*974] aren’t necessarily enemies, but [*276] is known to be very cynical with his opinions.)

I lean over the cliff face. One of the two figures has turned around and seems to be speaking to a cluster of about four other figures. I carefully jump down to a small shelf beneath the cliff’s edge. The figure turns back to the other and says something. I hear something hit the wall above me. I look up, and see a small dent in the cliff face above me. I examine the dent. The dent was small, but it must have been moving very fast to have created an impact marking. I keep examining it-

My train of thought is cut off by a sudden, searing pain in my back. My legs wobble and start to slide off the shelf. I grab the edge of the shelf with my front legs and start to pull myself back up, when another pain flares up in my hind leg. My momentary, adrenaline-fueled stamina gives way, and I fall. A strange wave of fatigue seems to wash over me as I fall. I hit the ground, and the world goes dark around me.

- The Pleasure of Winter Warmth, 2023.12.28.B

I tell you, archival materials are priceless! I just remembered a Colubrine Sector thread that I haven't documented yet, and I remembered that I wrote down some names related to the thread somewhere in my papers. Good news, I eventually found them. Bad news, they were written in the Emerelian Relex.

Here are the translations of what I found:

It's a swing wing!
Folicins
Fabrius 
Demichetie
Kelad

. . . uhhhh, I'll do what I can with this information.