The old way of queens
Spoke in the dark water
She said to herself
but I will not give up on love
I will not believe what people say
She rises now
She is wearing a strong green dress
and leather shoes
She is leaving a dark palace
in the night under a waning moon
She mounts her horse in one deep movement
Her bag is light but full, with a bedroll
and a small careful sack
of her talismans and charms
For she sees into two worlds
and knows when
to bring out her magic
She is leaving to find what she lost
She is riding alone under the stars again
She is going to her own country
She is pulling the threads
of her own power from where
she had been holding together broken men
She coils them all back
into the little charmed stone
on the string around her neck
She gallops out of the silent darkness
Her horse is the colour of falling leaves
Her spirit is ambrosia again
It has the scent of wet roses and the Glen
She can feel her cloak filling once more
with the stars of her beginning :
Pleiades, Hyades, Corona Borealis
That night she sleeps
In a bed of russet oak leaves
She will not dream any more
of being saved

The little cluster of rocks wasn't much, but the cabling and paneling and sundries that had lashed them all together marked them as being a part of the asteroid belt known as the Reef. It was a nest of scum, the sorts that had been banned or kicked out of the Tangled Shore, that even The Spider didn't want to associate with. Because it was where the worst sorts filtered down to, the locals called the area "The Trench." Awoken enforcers never went near it, unless they had numbers and firepower at their backs.
In recent months, the Trench had become more crowded. Ships of all stripes had parked around it-- Eliksni ketches and Cabal cruisers, Awoken galliots and Arcadian shuttles. The makes meant little, as they were frequently stolen. The livery and banners they flew all varied, but there were two specific ones worth noting. One was blue and bore a sigil of a broken sword stabbed into a stylized crown, the other black and portrayed a stylized Eliksni skull with an upper jaw full of jagged teeth. The banners of House Salvation and the pirate lord Gresdin Sawtooth.
A skiff dropped out of a short-range jump and docked itself between a sloop and a cobbled-together transport, both of which had their old livery scored and scratched away. As the skiff's captain disembarked, he could see that crews were already at work painting Sawtooth's standard onto them. A vandal stepped out in front of him, crashing into him, but the vandal took one look and thought better of finishing their scowl, instead scuttling away to another ship.
Similar reactions followed, even from a few of the Legionless Cabal that plodded the walkways of the Trench. But soon enough, the skiff captain approached the Trench's topmost suite of cabins. Two Eliksni guards glared at him, but he stared them down in kind, until one turned and barked into the cabin, "Tell them the Technomancer's back."
But the Technomancer-- a Fallen reaver named Bansiks-- raised his bulky mechanical arm and shoved the two House Salvation Elites out of his way as he barged into the cabin. His synthesized voice rasped as he approached the high table. "Lord Gresdin," he called.
Several other figures were clustered around the table, turning toward him as he approached. One was just Kalsek, one of Gresdin's lieutenants, bristling with indignation-- but not just from Bansiks's interruption, the Technomancer could tell. Kalsek was more angry about the two interlopers at the table. Both were Eliksni, and one towered over all present at the table, wearing scarred armor and clutched in his lower hands was a heavily modified forge hammer, the head of which glowed with Scorch energy. He stood behind an older Eliksni seated at the table, but Bansiks could see the lightly-armored elder's own scarred body beneath the faded, priestly robes he wore. Both wore the blue banner of House Salvation.
He knew them both by reputation. The giant was, despite his size, the lesser of the two, a retainer to the elder. One of the many outcasts of the scattered House of Scars, he had become a reaver in his way, taking part in pirate raids and eventually seeking more glory for himself in the Last Attempt at conquering the human City. He had been captured along with many others and languished in the Prison of Elders, but had escaped along with so many others when the Prison had fallen, and eventually came to House Salvation, eager to smash the wretches that had defeated his people and imprisoned him. But in the end, Brekkis the Breaker was simply a brute to his core.
On the other hand, the elder, Morsik, was a former archon of a lesser House that had long ago fractured and fallen apart, one who had suffered much abuse in the time since, but largely at the hands of Lightbearers and the Reef folk. Drawn to Eramis by the promise of a reborn Riis, he had become a very effective recruiter for his new House, speaking in an almost hypnotic fashion as he whipped up the furor and fervor for revenge against the Lights for the pain they'd all experienced. It worked so well, it was little wonder why they called him the Demagogue.
Seated at the midle of the table, opposite the entry to the chamber, was a broad-shouldered, barrel-chested Eliksni. A bandolier strapped across his chest had several Shock pistols at hand, and though they were blocked by the table, Bansiks knew there was an array of swords and knives and similar bladed weaponry around his waist. His Ether-mask had a twice-bifurcated crest, two flanges of which twisted forward and down, almost like tusks, while the other two were bent into horns. The front of his mask had its grill wrought to resemble a mouthful of jagged fangs. He wore his own black standard, with one upper hand resting on the grip of his namesake sword, a zweihander with a jagged edge. Gresdin Sawtooth, pirate lord of the Trench, looked up at him.
"Bansiks," Gresdin acknowledged. But then he turned back to the House Salvation envoys. "For all she demands of me and mine, Eramis could not come herself, and sends you instead?"
"Eramiskel," Brekkis growled.
But the pirate lord slapped his palm on the table. "Not my Kell," he snarled back. "She disrespects me like this, she does not get that wisp of respect from me in turn."
The brute glowered down at him. "No one--"
"No one sends a thug like you unless they're trying to send a message," Gresdin interrupted. He turned his gaze instead to Morsik, dismissing the retainer immediately. "The Shipstealer expects much from me, and all the other crews that berth in my Trench." A rasping snarl rattled in his throat. "Running down and looking for old relics, but what does she offer in return? A vague threat that we will be allowed to live?"
"Eramiskel has been given purpose." Morsik's voice was soft, quiet, the kind that forced the listener to strain to hear, and to thus better absorb his words. "To revisit the pain our people have suffered upon those who inflicted it."
"Lightbearers," Brekkis snarled.
"You know better than others, Lord Gresdin," the Demagogue continued, "that our people are plagued by weakness. Those with the means to lift us up simply won't make the decisions necessary to shape a place for us to live. No one, apart from Eramiskel."
"She wants trinkets that grant their bearers power," Bansiks rumbled, and raised a relic in his hand, setting it on the table in front of the pirate lord. "Iriks is dead," he told him. Brekkis made a move to reach for the lantern-like relic, but the Technomancer's bulky synthetic arm twitched up and extruded a blade that touched the brute's throat. "That's not for you."
Morsik's expression did not change, but there was the impression of a frown. "Eramiskel has asked for the relics."
"This is not the new Riis that Eramis ruled," Gresdin picked up the relic and passed it to Kalsek. "You are in the Trench, and this is my domain. Not even the Lightbearers dare come here. What makes you think you can make demands of me?"
The Demagogue placed two hands on the table as he ponderously rose, his scarred, aged body trembling some as he did so. Brekkis moved to assist him, but Morsik waved him off. The elder Eliksni stood with an almost regal air, and then slapped a hand down on the table. Cobalt blue ice crystals rippled outward from where he struck, spreading across the table, and then the floor, flash-freezing Kalsek in place, relic included. As the pirate lord bellowed in fury, Brekkis slapped aside Bansiks's blade and grabbed him by the throat.
"You think you have power," Morsik murmurred, as he lifted his hand, letting the pirate see the Splinter embedded in the gauntlet he wore. "But you do not. And there is a power beyond even this, which eclipses even the Light."
To the former archon's surprise, however, Gresdin began laughing. "Your House kneels to the Black Gale. But the Gale is not here--"
At which point, red SIVA clouds snaked out of Bansiks's gauntlet, winding around Brekkis and pinning him to the floor with hardened cables of metal. As this happened, the Technomancer raised his synthetic arm and the blade unfolded as the barrel of a cannon emerged from it. Morsik stared this down, raising his hands carefully. The Stasis crystals receded, Kalsek staggering as he was freed, and Gresdin arose from his chair, hefting his namesake sword to one shoulder with a speed that belied its weight.
"--and Gresdin Sawtooth bows to no one."
Morsik inclined his head thoughtfully. "How would you like to strike down the Reef folk?"
The Lord of the Trench paused, lowering his sword briefly, though not fully. "Explain."
"The man-folk and their Lightbearers have plagued our people since the moment we first reached this star. But only one of their Houses has ever enslaved Eliksni." The Demagogue spread his hands. "The House of Sov." Gresdin stared him down, but then glanced at Bansiks, gesturing subtly with a spare hand. The Technomancer lowered his cannon, but left Brekkis pinned under SIVA tendrils. With a nod, Morsik continued, "The apologists will say the broken Weavers swore oaths, but oaths made under duress are not binding, as they proved later when they rebelled."
"A rebellion that got them all killed," Kalsek pointed out.
"Because the man-folk will never let Eliksni live unless they kneel to their Lightbearers and to the Traitor Machine," Morsik spat. "If we start to rise back up, they send their ghouls to slaughter us."
Gresdin grunted again. "No one dares attack the Trench. Even the Lightbearers stay away." But he looked over as Bansiks shook his head.
"The Lightbearers have pirate hunters now," he reported. "Not only have they taken out several of the ketchkilers, they are hunting relics like that," he indicated the lantern in Kalsek's hands.
Gresdin chewed on that thought for a moment before Morsik folded his lower hands over his belly, the other set behind his back. "The relics have power. The old crews knew this." He eyed the pirate lord. "You broke from your House because your Kell was weak. House Blades was renowned for its prowess in battle, but Yovariskel had been too cautious to join the Last Attempt, and Koussakskel is too cowardly to seek the glory you crave. You earned your place as Lord of the Trench as befits your old House's ways.
"You have supporters in House Blades," Morsik continued. "They grumble and whisper and want their glories, but Koussakskel holds them back. A bold move on your part-- scouring the Reef of House Sov-- would galvanize them. They would flock to your banner. And Eramiskel would honor your deeds, and offer you pride of place as High Baron in her House, as admiral of Salvation's ketch fleet."
The pirate lord mulled this over, while Kalsek argued, "Why should Lord Gresdin lower himself to serve a kell who failed her House? The Lights defeated her, her House was scattered." But the expression on Gresdin's face told that he'd already taken the bait, and now the Demagogue just needed to reel him in.
"Perhaps her House had been weak," Morsik suggested. "And with you at her side to assure the strength of her followers..."
Bansiks looked at Gresdin, who regarded the elder with a long stare. Then, with a ponderous move, he planted the end of his jagged zweihander on the floor, and nodded to the cyborg Eliksni. The Technomancer stepped back from Brekkis as the cabling binding him down dissolved back into clouds of nanites, which withdrew into the tanks on his back.
"Then let us speak," Gresdin Sawtooth smiled, "of what your Kell will do for me."

The System was a scam, period.
I had leveled up five whole times after our fight against the Wendigo and I had not received any kind of reward. Sure, my mana pool had grown a little bit and my [Mana Exhaustion] had been slowly receding, but other than that I wasn’t getting stronger, faster or more agile. I didn’t even have a measly new skill to show for it.
“What a scam, I want a refund.” I muttered.
“I already told you, there was only a small chance for the Wendigo to have an elemental crystal. You only start seeing stuff like that after level fifty.” Elincia huffed in front of me. The mountainous path was steep but at least we had left the forest behind. Elincia had told me that Farcrest was just beyond the mountain range.
“People should get shit after leveling up five damn times!” I angrily said as if Elincia was somehow responsible for the shitty progression system.
The white haired suddenly stopped and turned around. For an instant I thought she was going to scold me but then, out of nowhere, she put her hands on my shoulders and locked her eyes into mine. I tried to control my blush with little success and hoped she would attribute it to the arduous hike.
“I’m sorry to break this down to you, Robert Clarke, but support classes don’t get crap from the System.” Elincia said with a solemn tone just to smile a moment later. “In any case, you should be happy because your mana pool is so huge. Scholars are known for having lots of mana but, dude, you are on another level.”
One thing was sure, I wasn’t getting used to receiving compliments any time soon.
[Awareness]: You are absolutely correct.
I ignored the System prompt. At least I was getting very good at doing that.
“The amount of mana you need to materialize a [Mana Blade] without a skill is ridiculous. Are you sure you are a low level Scholar?” Elincia asked as we resumed the march. As we came near the edge of the Farlands, she grew more relaxed.
There haven't been any signs of monsters since the previous night.
“You still don’t believe in me?” I replied.
“At this point you could say you are the son of a Fire Dragon and a virginal maiden and I’d believe you.” Elincia shrugged her shoulders. “It might be a long shot but, have you ever been in a System Shrine?”
As good a liar as I was, I couldn’t just bullshit my way out of such a direct question. Elincia was too keen for that. A System Shrine sounded like basic knowledge.
“Haven’t heard about that in my life.” I replied.
Elincia stopped for a second and gave me one of her looks of disbelief that made me feel like a kid without his homework. I wondered if she had practiced that expression. After all, she had five stacks of [Favorite Teacher], she might as well have experience publicly humiliating kids.
“You don’t have System Shrines in the City of Light?” Elincia asked in disbelief.
I just shrugged my shoulders to avoid giving an answer. Also, there was the fact that the hike was taking a toll on my lungs. I didn’t know how Elincia could sustain a conversation. If I knew I was going to get transported to a magical world, I would’ve exercised more back on Earth.
“The System blocks certain titles from low level individuals.” Elincia started explaining. “Let’s say a Lv.1 Soldier survives the scuffle against a flock of Fire Dragons and gets the [Dragon Killer] title which gives fire resistance. There is a high chance the System withholds the title from the Soldier on the basis that [Dragon Killer] is an overpowered title for a mere Lv.1.”
I nodded. It made sense the System had a method to prevent power leveling, if only to maintain some semblance of normalcy. Earth would be plunged into chaos very quickly if suddenly a bunch of people with godly powers appeared out of nowhere.
“With the help of a System Shrine and a competent System Zealot the Soldier could unlock [Dragon Killer] even without the required level.” Elincia finished with her explanation. “Maybe you are benefiting from a hidden title.”
“Maybe,” I replied.
I couldn’t imagine having any useful titles considering how ordinary my life has been before arriving in the Farlands. When I was in college, I was able to comfortably outdrink all my group of friends, but then I lost that skill just after graduating. And there was the fact my only title at level one was [Lonely Boy] so my hopes of having a nice hidden title weren’t particularly high.
“Does Farcrest have a System Shrine?” I asked.
My question prompted a dry laugh from Elincia.
“Don’t get your hopes too high. Farcrest is a shithole.” She warned me as we climbed a rocky path between the two mountain ranges that separated the Farlands from the Kingdom of Ebros. We were almost there.
“Why is there a town so close to the Farlands anyway?” I asked.
Elincia lent me her hand and helped me climb a step boulder.
“To prevent monsters from pouring into the Kingdom. Think of Farcrest as a cork.” Elincia pulled me up the boulder.
Suddenly, we were on top of the path between two mountain ranges. I glanced down the valley ahead expecting to see a handful of rustic cabins scattered across a modest patch of farmland with a rotten palisade and a muddy road; however, Farcrest was a town in its own right. It was located on the top of a soft hill, surrounded by a high stone wall with several watchtowers. An impressive church made of the same dark stone rose above the thatched rooftops and, on the highest part of the hill, a great hall, half palace, half fortress, dominated the valley.
“Doesn’t look like a shithole to me.” I said as we started the descent from the other side of the hill. It looked like a picturesque European medieval town.
“You’ll see.” Elincia replied, with a hopeless sigh.
About two hours later, we reached the city outskirts. The main road was neglected and the farmland’s irrigation canals blocked by debris. As we approached the city, the picture became even more bleak. I didn’t need [Awareness] to tell me the crops were sickly and weak. Most of the farmers were older men and women that moved slowly among the plots of land.
“Where are the young people?” I asked, discarding the idea of a disease. If there was a plague ravaging Farcrest, then there wouldn’t be old people working on the fields.
“They are in the eastern frontier, fighting the King’s wars.” Elincia replied dryly.
I recalled Elincia telling me there was a shortage of alchemical ingredients due to a war in the western frontier.
“War against who?” I asked. A war-torn country might not be too welcoming to strangers like me.
“Against the Farlands. The king is obsessed with expanding the kingdom’s territory and uncharted lands and their resources.” Elincia sighed. “It’s a meat grinder. A bunch of low level kids trying to push deeper and deeper into monster territory while the real warriors are protecting the imperial capital and the frontiers.”
[Awareness] sent me down a stream of reasoning. Numbers and equipment were the basis of any military force back on Earth. However, in this world, a single individual with a powerful class and a high level could potentially be a one man army.
“What about power leveling the new recruits? You know, pairing them with a bunch of high level people and fighting monsters together?” I asked again.
“You might be a genius, Robert Clarke! How had no one thought of that before?” Elincia replied as she mindlessly drummed her lips in a gesture I recognized as deep concentration.
“Really?”
“You really think Kings, Scholars, and Generals didn’t think about powerleveling new recruits? The System doesn’t allow that.” A tired smile was drawn on Elincia’s face.
Seeing Elincia’s expression, I decided to drop the topic about the war. I wondered how many of her friends and acquaintances have gone to the frontline to never be heard of again. The Farlands were a dangerous place and the King’s troops lacked the advantage of firearms like me.
“Let’s go to my place.” Elincia said as we approached the city walls. “You should make yourself presentable before going to the Great Hall for that transit permit, and we have to appraise the herbs.”
It didn’t take a genius to realize Elincia was desperate for alchemical materials, otherwise she wouldn’t invite a stranger like me to her home. Or maybe there was a really charitable soul beneath the layers of mistrust and suspicion. The aftermath of the combat against the Wendigo had brought us a lot closer.
“Sounds like a plan to me.” I replied wondering if I was going to meet Elincia’s kid. Or her partner.
Farcrest was only a few hundred meters away. Up close, the black stone wall was taller and sturdier than I initially thought. Then I remembered they weren’t built to resist medieval armies but the assault of skills and magic spells. The double wooden gate was wide open but nobody bothered to stop us or ask about the business that brought us to the city.
As we passed through the hole in the wall, I spied into a guardhouse. I saw young men and women playing cards and drinking booze. Well-fed and well-dressed troops loyal to the Marquis, I assumed. Up close, Farcrest was further away from the bucolic city and dangerously close to a feudal dystopia.
Elincia and I walked along the wall towards the northern district. As we progressed through the city, houses became more and more neglected to the point it seemed outright abandoned to me. Kids ran barefoot in the street, fetid puddles adorned the alleys, and most of the stores were closed. Farcrest was a ghost town.
“How long has there been war?” I asked.
“Seven years now?” Elincia replied. “We are close.”
After five more minutes of meandering through alleys, we emerged in front of a great manor made of stained white walls and washed out blue shingles. For a moment I was out of words. Was Elincia the heir of a noble family fallen from grace? Her dignified appearance and beautiful features made me think so, however, she was a bit too wild to be a noblewoman.
The manor was old. The white painting of the front was peeling away and water stains plagued the nooks and crannies of the structure. A low stone wall marked the perimeter and a quick glance revealed it had served in the past as the foundation for an iron fence long gone. The only section of the outer wall that had survived the decay of the city was the iron gate.
Elincia opened it and we entered the front yard. I was about to ask a hundred questions when the front door slammed open and a stampede of small kids came to meet us. I managed to count at least a dozen before they reached us. Elincia greeted them with arms open as the little ones burst into tears at the first sight of the woman.
I froze. Not all of them were human.
There were two small snakefolk kids with bright yellow eyes. The blue-scaled snake-kid was dressed in a ragged brown dress while the green-scaled one had an oversized white shirt and frayed pants. At the end of the retinue, somewhat late to the reception, appeared a small winged girl with a hesitant gait. Her beautiful golden feathers contrasted with the old pillowcase she used as a dress.
Before I could react, both of the snake-kids jumped into my arms, crying a river of tears. Surprisingly enough, they were warm to the touch. I tried to exchange a glance with Elincia but she was busy trying to calm a handful of small kids on her own.
How many kids Elincia had?
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Discord Royal Road

Written by Vincent O’Sullivan and first published in January 1916; translated to modern English, otherwise left exactly the same.
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[Introduction]
One night— during my last voyage across the Atlantic— someone mentioned that we were passing over the spot where the Lusitania went down. Whether or not this was true, the thought alone was enough to dampen the mood and begin a serious discussion regarding the emotional state of the passengers when they realized they were sinking. From there, the conversation turned to the fate of those who drowned, (after all, they were the fortunate ones) and tales of the survivors.
A Scottish lady asked if their ghosts ever appeared on passing ships and if there was a risk of seeing one should the light in her cabin go out. This put an end to everyone’s seriousness, and most of us laughed— all except for a short, tight-faced man whose expression was bleak and gray. The lady noticed this and appealed to him for support.
“Do you also believe in ghosts?” She asked lightly.
He hesitated, thinking it over before replying. “In ghosts? N-no, I don’t; I’ve never seen one… Have any of you?”
No one replied. Instead, most of us laughed again— only a little uneasily this time— and the man continued. “All the same— even if you discount the existence of ghosts— life is filled with strange happenings that just can’t be explained. You try to laugh them off until you experience something big enough to truly shock you, and then you stop laughing entirely… It’s like being thrown out of a car—”
The man’s words were cut off by the blast of the ship’s whistle, and everyone rushed up to the deck, but we had only entered a fogbelt. I ended up smoking a cigar and walking the upper deck with the bleak man who soon returned to the topic of our dinner conversation; it was clear that our laughter had bothered him.
“Life is filled with so many strange things... You can laugh at faith-healing, dreams, and all of that until something unexplainable happens. Then, you have to throw your hands up and admit that you don’t have an answer. I’m as logical as any man here, but I’ve experienced such a situation. It doesn’t matter whether or not other people believe it— it happened. I can’t doubt it any more than I could doubt having a tooth pulled. If you will sit in this corner with me— out of the wind— I’ll tell you about it…”
​
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[The Burned House]
Some years ago, I had to be in Northern England for several months while I appeared before the courts. The trial itself is irrelevant, and I’ve forgotten most of the details anyway, but it was a long and worrisome case that added twenty years to my age. All of my time in that grimy Manchester courtroom was spent thinking of a fresh little place in the Lake District and how I would go there if the trial went well; it was the only thing that helped pass the hours.
The morning after I was acquitted, I boarded the north-bound train. It was early autumn, so— by the time I arrived— the sun had already set, and it was cold. The village was dark and deserted; they don’t go out at night anyway, but the strong mountain wind was enough to deter anyone who might try.
The hotel was not modernized like the great ones in the city. Instead, it was a real old-fashioned tavern— one of the most uncomfortable places on earth. They show you that traveling is like being in prison— that home is the best place for you— both morally and physically. The landlord brought me supper with a hat on his head and a pipe in his mouth. The room was chilly, but when I asked for a fire, he said he couldn’t go to the woodshed until morning. There was nothing else to do after I ate, so I went outside to escape the smell and warm myself with a short walk.
Being unfamiliar with the area, I didn’t mean to go far, but it was an overcast night with high winds and occasional rain flurries. Even with the moon concealed behind the clouds, it lit the night well enough to see a good distance ahead, so I continued walking until I was in a lonely, isolated region. Large trees and shrubs lined the road, and there was a mountain stream several feet below. The wind blowing through the high trees combined with the racing water sounded like a crowd of people. Sometimes the tree branches became so thick, it was like walking through a black pit, but then I would return to the gray countryside.
I had been walking for about 45 minutes when I came to a fork in the road. One side led downward— almost reaching the stream below— and the one I decided to follow ascended a steep hill. I climbed for more than half a mile fully aware of how lost I would be should I lose track of a landmark. Then the path curved and came out onto a broad plateau, where— to my astonishment— I saw a house.
It was three-storeys high with a verandah around two sides, and it overlooked a far stretch of the country. There were a few large trees nearby and a clump of bushes behind it, but the home seemed lonely with all four sides so vulnerable to the wind. Regardless, I was glad to know there were people who could give me directions if I became lost… Except— once I got closer— I found that it was uninhabited. All the shutters were closed, and there wasn’t a flicker of light to be seen.
There was something sinister and barren about it that made me shiver. It was the same feeling as if one were to consider jumping into the black waters of the stream below. It’s not an entirely unpleasant feeling— it makes one appreciate their current safety that much more. I wasn’t really frightened. I was alone— miles from any help and at the mercy of anyone who might be lurking behind those sullen shutters— but I knew that I was most likely safe. My hesitation was due to the wild scenery’s effect on my nerves along with the unexpected discovery of such a lonely house.
Instead of continuing along the road, I walked roughly 250 yards through the grass until coming to a stone wall where I rested and surveyed the scene. A strange light lingered atop the far away hills— like the first touch of dawn on a rainy morning or the last glimpse of twilight before the night comes. Between myself and the hills was a wide stretch of open country with an apple orchard to my right. A set of steps had been made in the wall of piled stones so the residents could go back and forth.
After standing there for a considerable time, I noticed a man coming towards me from the orchard. He was a tall, skinny fellow with a clean shaven face, and he wore a cowboy hat with a woolen shirt and rubber boots. He walked with a good stride and appeared to be between 25 and 30. As he began crossing over the stone wall, I wished him a neighborly goodnight, but he made no reply. Instead, he looked right at me, and his expression made me uneasy. He didn’t have an evil face— in fact it was a handsome, serious face— but it was ravaged by something terrible. It had the look of stealth, ruthlessness, and a deadly resolution… Yet he also held the appearance of a man driven by some uncontrollable power— a man asking for comprehension and mercy. It was impossible to resent his rudeness; his thoughts were so obviously elsewhere that I doubt he even saw me.
He had only passed by a few seconds ago when I turned to look for him, but he’d disappeared. Even if he’d sprinted, he couldn’t have gotten inside so quickly, but I like to attribute things I don’t understand to natural causes that I’ve merely failed to observe. Surely the man went back into the orchard or some other opening farther down… Or maybe the distorted light was playing tricks on my eyes… Either way, that’s when I noticed lights appearing behind the house’s shutters; they were flickering— going from bright to dim— and glowing like a fire. It didn’t take long to become convinced that’s exactly what it was; the house was on fire!
Black smoke billowed from the roof while red sparks flew in the wind. Suddenly, a pair of shutters were thrown open above the verandah, and I heard a woman scream. I ran towards the house as fast as I could until I could see her clearly.
She was young, and her long hair fell in disarray over a white nightgown. She stretched out her bare arms, screaming, and then a man grabbed her from behind, but they were trapped. The flames were licking around the windows, and the smoke was killing them as the house began to cave in over where they stood. Appalled by the horrible tragedy, I moved even closer; if the two could make their way to the side without the verandah— they could jump, and I could try to break their fall.
I shouted this plan to them, but— as I came right up to the flames— I noticed something astonishing… The fire wasn’t producing any heat! Truly— I was standing close enough to be burned, yet I felt no heat whatsoever! The sparks flew all around my head— some even landed on my hands— but I wasn’t even singed; likewise, there was no glare against the sky. That’s when I noticed the smoke was billowing in great columns, yet I wasn’t choked by it at all— I didn’t so much as smell it! I stood there stupefied as the whole house was engulfed by a flaming tornado and crumbled into a red ruin.
Heart stricken, I made my way down the hill while shouting for help and came to a small, wooden bridge. At the end, there was a rope fastened to the railing and thrown over the side… Looking down, I saw a man hanging between the road and the stream; upon closer inspection, I recognized him as the man I saw exiting the orchard. His hat had fallen off, and the tips of his boots just barely touched the water.
It didn’t seem possible, but there was no denying he was the same man. I scrambled to the bottom hoping to lift the body and relieve the weight on the rope. I was just able to reach his loose shirt, yet there was no resistance when I pulled, and— for a moment— I thought the shirt tore loose; then I realized my hand had closed on nothing but air… I was so suffocated by the horror that I feared losing consciousness.
I began running and stumbling along that dark road in total panic; the only thing I could think to do was wake the whole town and bring more men back to the bridge… At least, that was my intention, but— when the village was finally within sight— I instinctively slowed down and began to think it over more logically… After all, I was a stranger in those parts… One who had just endured a rather disagreeable trial, and country folk are notoriously suspicious by default.
I was already at my limit for baseless accusations, so I decided the smartest option was to drop a few hints to the landlord. That way, I could decide how to proceed based on his reaction. I found him exactly as I’d left him— still sitting in that same spot while he smoked.
“Well, I was wondering where you ran off to.” He said slowly.
I told him about my walk and casually mentioned the forked road and hill before asking who lived in the house at the top.
For a moment he only stared at me in confusion before confidently replying, “house? There’s no house up there. Old Joe Snedeker owns that land, and he wants to build a house for his son after the boy gets married, but he ain’t even gotten started yet… Some folks don’t think he ever will.”
“I’m pretty sure I saw a house…” I protested feebly, lacking the courage to dispute his claim. I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact there was no heat or substance to it.
The landlord gave me a look of concern with his next response. “You seem a bit out of it; maybe it would be best for you to get some sleep...”
​
-----
​
[Conclusion]
The man paused from telling his story, and— for a moment— we sat in silence, listening to the hum of the machinery and the lashing sea merge with the singing voices from the deck below.
As a rule, we tend to feel a shade of contemptuous superiority over those who believe in their dreams or a fortune-teller’s predictions, and that’s what I felt now. “Hallucinations— it was just your eyes playing tricks. Your nerves were probably shattered after the long strain of your trial.” I said with reassuring indulgence
“That’s what I thought, too— especially after I returned to the hill the following morning… There was no sign of the house ever existing.” He replied shortly.
“And no corpse at the bridge?” I asked with a laugh.
“And no corpse at the bridge.” He confirmed while trying to light another cigar. It took a little time, but— once he managed it— he rose from his chair and stood looking down at me before continuing.
“Now, listen. I told you this all happened several years ago. I’d almost forgotten it; if you can convince yourself that something was only your imagination— the memory begins to dim inside your head. Once you recognize it as a delusion, it loses its hold on you. Whenever I would remember it, I would think of how close I came to losing my mind; that’s all. Last year, I went back to that same hotel and talked to the same landlord who immediately remembered me as the man who thought he saw the house. After sharing a laugh, he said a house had since been built up there.
“He also said it would’ve been better if the house had never existed. Old Snedeker built his son a big, fine house with a veranda on two sides, and Young Joe began courting Mabel Elting. She was from Windermere, but she worked at a shop in Liverpool. She used to date a fellow named Jim Travers, and he was wild about her; he’d save his money to go visit her, but she eventually ended the relationship to marry Joe— probably because of his house and his old man’s money. Well, Jim went crazy, and— on the newlywed’s very first night in their new home— he burned it down while the couple slept… The landlord speculated the guy must have been drunk; he’d always known Jim as a quiet, gentle man…
“He looked surprised when I told him that wasn’t the case, but when he asked if I’d heard about the incident, I simply said no and prompted him to continue. After burning the young couple in their bed, he hung himself at the little bridge just before the road forked… He personally witnessed the body hanging on the following morning and saw that the tips of Jim’s boots just barely touched the water…”

Got into a no fault accident earlier this month and looks like my 2012 hyundai sonata hybrid is going to be a total loss. I’m honestly grateful because driving that car always gave me anxiety because I drive around the country and it’s not an easy car to fix if something goes wrong.
Which brings me to my next car. I’m looking for reliability and low cost/easy repair above all else. Toyota seems like the obvious option, something in the 2016-2018 range seems to be a sweet spot. However, the reliability comes at a cost it seems. Minimal features, loud ride, boring handling and not very fun to drive.
Is there another car out there that has a reputation for being reliable and somewhat fun and interesting to drive?
Do Hondas still have a reputation for being as reliable as they once were before the airbag lawsuits? I’d be interested to hear aboutany specific year models of a not typically super reliable brand stand out as being far more reliable than the rest of their typical fleet.
I currently have a 2023 Chevy Malibu as my rental and it drives like a dream. So responsive and cushy and such a quiet cabin, Apply CarPlay is so awesome and so is the sound system. I just know I would not get that experience in a Toyota, but I am not a fan of Chevy’s reputation.
Sorry if this post is all over the place I’m just overwhelmed with the car market right now and don’t have a ton of time to look around. Any guidance is helpful.
TLDR; Looking for a VERY reliable low maintenance, somewhat fun to drive SUV/Sedan for under $20k. Apple CarPlay/good sound system/quiet cabin is a plus.
Looking for any alternatives to Toyota, or any year models of a car brand that are uniquely reliable when compared to other years.

Note: I make fun of books and authors, so if you really can’t take being poked at, Spindle Manor will do the poking for you with their long, sexy legs.
​
Table of Contents: ctrl + f:
​
Updates: #
Stats: ^
Recs: *
Conclusion: @
Answers: ~
Theme: Ö
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__________________________________
​
Welcome back to Reviewless Review Recs of May!
A short introduction to this post: Every book is recommended, regardless of how bad it is or not. You have the brain capacity to decide if you like it or not, don’t let a stranger make a decision for you.
I speak in the second POV and describe what the book is actually about, and not the false advertising of publishing companies. I do this with shitty jokes and satire and try to convince you to pick up the book, regardless of how I feel about it.
Unlike Hoover, all books deserve a chance….Sigh, OK, fine, fine, Barbara. Even….Even...Eleventh Cycle.
ARE YOU HAPPY, NOW, B-
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​
May:
May was filled with disappointment that a jury vote existed and the king of Finland didn’t win Eurovision. The world unanimously cried, but couldn’t be that mad that Loreen won.
Except this bitch.
I fucking wanted Alika to win so badly. I even voted and paid for the first time to give all my votes to her. Her song spoke to me and touched me that it’s never too late to go back to my work.
If Bomanz from Black Company can become a famous sorcerer at his rickety age, maybe we can too!
My favorites of Eurovision (from music videos only, I feel like every one of my favs bombed someway except Finland, France, and Norway):
Estonia
France
Austria
Czechia (wtf was that live performance...)
Finland
​
In ACTUAL book news, I’ve been waiting patiently for the library to hand me the newest Mark Lawrence book that I’ve been waiting literally 3 and a half weeks now, but I still get bumped down on Libby...for some reason. Eh.
Also since I managed to finish “She Who Rides the Storm”, I finally started “Elantris”. Was a long time coming but was saving it for a while and thought it was finally time to tackle Sanderson. I started Way of Kings with the paperback version and boy, that was a mistake for my ADHD…
And, that’s why I got a Kindle last year.
Anywho, let’s get started!
___________________________________
​
Some Updates: #
​

• I started comparing last month’s stats with this month, just to see how everything is progressing cause I like working with numbers!
• As requested by a user, I have made the recs longer
• At the end of each Rec, I put a theme song that I thought fit each book appropriately. You can tell how much I loved Eurovision this year.

___________________________________
Stats: ^
Books read this month: 10 (+3)
Books I started: 13 (=)
Total amount of words I read (approx): 1,050,508 (-414,261,565) according to last month...I read way more. Not sure why the numbers are this drastic
Books published 2010+ : 8 (N/A)
Mary Sues & John Smiths: 11, give or take (7+)
YA books: 5 (+4)
Good smut scenes: 1 (+1?) I think it was in the Witcher, say what you will about the series, the man knows how to write smut
Light Novels read: 0 (-2)
Books that felt Souls-like: 6 (+2)
Audiobooks: 4 (N/A)
How many brain cells I lost: 529 (+500)
Brain cells gain: 175 (N/A)
​
What other stats do you guys want to see?
___________________________________
​
Guessing Game:
Want to know the real rating I gave each of these books anyway, even though the true spirit of this post is to decide for yourself anyway? I know there’s one of you fuckers in here, but here, guess the ratings and the answers are revealed at the end. You anarchist, you.
___________________________________
​
Reviewless Review Recs: \*
​
Seven Faceless Saints by M.K. Lobb: Read if you're in the ages 14-18, as this is possibly the most edgiest thing you might read about fictional Italy. Two teens are trying to solve a murder mystery in an alternate universe where Catholicism reigns supreme. Wait.
As an adult, this is a living personification of that one prozd video.
If you ever played Phoenix Wright, you’ll figure out the murderer in 5 seconds. If you haven’t, then maybe this would come as a surprise.
Atheism is talked about on the nose, you can't stop thinking about “Friends” because of "Roz" being mentioned every other second, and our intrepid MC goes to horny jail every other second when she's literally fighting for her life and not focusing on a gun that could disembowel her.
PTSD of war is represented by the male MC who probably once could have been the trope of the “nice guy” in school that you never had interest in, but 3 years later, because he sported 5 o’ clock shadow and has a baritone voice, he’s automatically hot.
Oh, and there are token bi, POC, and elderly people, but they’re only mentioned for a few pages, so don’t expect that much diversity. You think Archer, Maas, and Lobb could actually be friends with each other given how they write their books. A secret society. cough
​
Ö Theme: Heat Waves – Lime: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BOokFwrmri4
Ö Runner up clip: Moist maker (this sandwich is actually GOAT, made it several times): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l9FG4kg8HNU
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Between Two Fires by Christopher Buehlman :
Read if Percy Jackson wasn’t edgy and dark enough for you and need something similar. Uniorinically, this is actually not satire but an actual (sorta) rec. Structure is similar to Jackson but with none of the jovial themes and tropes. Think “Lightning Thief”, only dark and edgy with grotesque monsters and, not urbanite Greek deities, but evil people from the Crusades era.
You keep thinking you’ll meet the 4th character in the Sanderson reunion tour, but there’s actually only 3 characters that are on this journey, not 4. So that Italian will actually not join us even though you liked his character a ton and curse at yourself at a potential LGBT partner dude. One day.
You will also find yourself crying, not because of how the story ended, but how the epilogue ended and boot up AO3 to fix everything.
You probably should(n’t) give this book to your aunt for reasons you know in the back of your mind but your evil AF. Maybe offer this to at Christmas and explain that it’s a book about a pilgrimage...(which isn’t totally wrong) but you’re a little bastard that is gonna get an ass whopping next Christmas, but it’ll be worth it.
​
Ö Theme: Alika- Bridges: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wO9g5t3VSuw
___________________________________
​
Time of Contempt (Volume (???)) by Andrzej Sapkowski (Witcher)
Read if you want to see Geralt turn into a woke ally Boomer, Yennefer going to relationship counseling, and Ciri gets her wish in more ways than one. If you’re comparing Witcher books with each other, quality has gone up since Blood of Elves if that’s what you’re concerned about. We also see the Abyss Watchers making an appearance and then you think of Jerma’s Rat song in your head for inexplicable reasons.
This book is mostly about Yennefer trying to employ questionable (albeit understandable) parenting tactics on Ciri and being caught up in the after math.
As usual, book is dated towards rape, but the only saving grace is it’s “off screen” and not in your face, “Eleventh Cycle”, knock that shit off
Let’s be real, you can’t treat this series as a separate unique book to it’s own, it’s more of a long ass story that Sapkowski decided for marketing reasons to space it out in 300+ page books.
If you ask me what makes this more interesting than the previous books, it will be like asking me which regional orange looks different and bitch, I don’t got energy for that shit.
Ö Theme: Rats Birthday Mixtape
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The Curse of the Spectre Queen / The Rise of the Snake Goddess by Jenny Moke
Read if you like to imagine Indiana Jones as a teenage girl, but loves books. Instead of meeting hot girls, we meet hot 1920s men, which you get to decide how good or bad that is.
The BAMF slays and you wish we had her as our Jones instead of our shy book loving MC, but hey, at least this MC has at least one quality to her that has way more personality that anything Shannon can hope to write in her stories. (Yes I know she writes her books as if they were history books, that’s not the point, Meredith)
Spectre Queen’s plot is literally about another book that will make you hug trees and will lead our characters across to Ireland. The next book is about a girdle, that you literally had to Google wtf a girdle was. You first thought it was a grill.
You wonder if the publishing agency struck a deal with the Irish and Crete travel agencies.
You also make a startling discovery that these characters are your OC from high school and middle school and your love interest OC from college mashed up into an adventure book that is oddly less erotic than anything Maas could create. You get to decide how good or bad that is.
Ö Theme: Indiana Jones Theme Song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-bTpp8PQSog
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Mordew by Alex Pheby
Read if you want to read an MC bland as hard tack inherit powers that don’t make sense till past the 70% mark. You want to read a dark YOUTH ADULT novel. Can’t find anything that’s edgy and dark enough for you? Well, here it is!
Dark mansion with Igor from the Velvet Room with an obvious villain being obvious, befriending a young boy that supposedly wants the best for him.
What can go wrong?
There are Souls-like elements weaved in, but you’re not going to see much of it. It’s mostly a vibe/fart than a plot or atmosphere.
What this book is pretty much: boy wants to help dad, there are weird monsters living in the mud, and a mansion that totally wants to abduct/help kids. Totally. Oh, and be aware, animals die in this book. A lot. An entire species is pretty much annihilated for teenage hormonal reasons that won’t make sense even if you’re still a teen. (Yes, I was one too and I also didn’t go on genocides. Thanks, Dad, you are a gem.). Oh, and someone fucked an anthropomorphized hedgehog along the way. Yeah. That happened.
If you go into this book, DO NOT READ THE BLURB! It ruins the whole plot of the entire book. If you buy/rent it, don’t you dare flip to the back side. Just open to the first chapter and start reading. You’re welcome, Matt.
Ö Theme: La Zarra – Evidemment Unironically, I think this song fits rather well with Mordew https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GWfbEFH9NvQ
​
Ö Runner up clip: Running in the 90s: You know why... https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BJ0xBCwkg3E
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She Who Rides the Storm by Catelin Sangster
Read if you like Sanderson and wished he focused more on the characters rather than the world building. You also like the ooey gooey feeling of finding a red/blue ship that you wished was the main pairing, but you’ll have to settle them being the side ship. Oh god, why, every single time?!
While it does have a romance tilt to it, this book focuses more on finding a cure for a mysterious illness and two of the characters are refugees from a religious cult that loves sunshine and that one weird horse mount from the Empire Strikes Back that you couldn’t take the auroshees seriously because of that.
Imagine that desert bar scene in A New Hope, but make it a whole book. But make it about a heist as a side plot that is barely touched on until the last 20% of the novel.
You also love doing puzzles in your spare time as you’ll be doing a lot of piecing together of the plot and world building from chapter to chapter. Unlike my problems, this one is pieceable and the last remaining piece is dangled over your head until the next book.
...Sangster is probably going to make you pay $20 for this singular piece, ain’t she?
Ö Theme: First Aid Kit - The Lion’s Roar: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uqS1MV_xA_I
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Medium Raw by Anthony Bourdain
Read if you want to have a blunt conversation with Bourdain about food, the faults of the kitchens, what not to do if you want to be a chef, and to be transported to the deepest, darkest alley where you might be knifed, but goddamn, the best chicken heart can be found here.
If you’re a bitch that’s easily spooked by curse words, then this probably isn’t for you. Though...you can sneak this to your cook boyfriend if you want to break up, because he already read the fucking book, Berta, I thought you knew him better by now!...Now you can finally segway to break up. Congratulations!
You’ll see the workings of a mind that was suffering. That was the reflection of this entire autobiography. Suffering and food. That’s life in reality, ain’t it?
Don’t expect cohesion or a semblance of logical flow of pacing. This book, like Mr. Bourdain’s mind, was a cluster fuck of erotically describing food, the dark corners and reality of the cooking world, and shitting on people because they were dicks.
He is sorely missed, and this isn’t a bit, but I still mourn his loss to the world. The world needs him again.
RIP to the GOAT.
Ö Theme: Okami – Sei-an (Aristocratic Quarter II) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TxXsEqNBTYE (Because he’s timeless and immortal even beyond death)
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Skullduggery Pleasant by Derek Landy
Read if you got tired of everything happy and sunshine in Percy Jackson and wanted blood, death, knives, SKELETONS, AND 12 year olds that are surprisingly self aware of the fact that they’re a teenager. You want less consumerism and capitalism than what Percy Jackson pushed down your throat. Finally, no mentions of those fucking gold arches, Riordan.
Oddly, no parents are dead in this book. In every YA book you read, there is at least one parent dead, gone to get milk, or playing Tears of the Kingdom. Pleasant surprise for this narrator.
You are also a person that hates world building that lastS for pages and pages. There’s none of that in this book. Expect pages of dialogue like it’s a transcript of my parent’s arguments.
Mom, I don’t agree with you. No, I don’t agree with you either, Dad. You fucking little….Just plant the damn fig tree, for fuck’s sake.
From other sources, apparently the book series gets darker as books go on, so take that as you will. Listening to Eminem and Linken Park between books may increase levels of angst in the subsequent books.
Side effects include: angst, a potentially bi-found family that lasts 10 seconds, fear of skeletons, mourning for fictional characters, and teenagers being oddly logical.
Post script: This would actually make an excellent autumnal book cause of spoopy skeletons.
Ö Theme: Lose Yourself – Eminem: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7YuAzR2XVAM (I was yesterday old when I realized “Mom’s spaghetti” lyrics was this song)
Ö Runner up clip: Spooky scary skeletons
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The White Rose (Volume 3 of the Black Company) by Glen Cook
Read if you liked having Charm flashbacks of Volume 1, but want a great dopamine rush in Volume 3.
Night Circus got nothing on this book for reasons you’ll figure out later. Expect a lot of weird crack shenanigans such as talking rocks just to name an example. The Lady’s character is fleshed out a lot more than previous volumes. Twists and turns are aplenty and Croacker complaining he’s too old like an old grandpa shopping 10 AM at a Walmart.
Funny enough, Morgenstern is a lot related to this book in more ways than one. Move over, lady, Cook was the original writer of Night Circus, caramel popcorn and candy apples be damned! We’re eating crusty bread and thickened stew, bitch!
You’re not going to be at the edge of your seat until the last percentage of the book, but it’s worth the dopamine rush and emotions that are given in the end, long after you put the book down. You will find yourself wandering around the library wondering how you returned from a reality of flying manta rays and talking rocks...to old ass Swedes loitering in the lobby, discussing where to fika next.
You’ll need a lot of Monsters to process your emotions tonight.
You also finally figure out where Miyazaki got the inspiration for the Storm King in Demon Souls. All this time, you got mad at Miyazaki for inserting a giant manta ray for disappointing climax reasons. No. He may have understood Black Company more than we thought.
Coleydoesthings is also screaming at the top of her lungs by the end of the book, crying into her body pillow.
Ö Theme: MSR – Lord of the Wolves: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=izFwwGx-wmo (Someone help me on the EX Stages omfg)
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Conclusion: @
I’ll be traveling soon, so the books might be on the short side, but my dumbass quality will remain. Just sprinkled with a lot of curry, chapati, and a big helping of obesity.
God, my thighs can’t take anymore of America.
I think I’ll have fun reading Elantris cause it’s literally a love letter to Soulsbourne and I might learn a bit from it! Can’t wait for it!
I know it’s not book related too much, but what were y’alls favorite in Eurovision?
(Did anyone feel like Armenia just spent money to send that girl an expensive Tinder profile?)
___________________________________
Answers: ~
Seven Faceless: 2/5
Between Two Fires: 3/5
Time of Contempt: 4/5
Curse and Snake: 3.95/5 & 4/5
Mordew: 1.5/5
She Who Rides the Storm: 3.9/5
Skullduggery: 3/5
Medium Raw: 4/5
White Rose: 4.5/5
If you have any constructive feedback, I’m open to them! Hope you enjoyed this month’s Recs!
Link to Blog Post: https://cannedbreadblog.wordpress.com/2023/05/31/ladyelfriedes-canned-books-reviewless-review-recs-of-may/

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