[This Quest is Bullshit] - Chapter 74: Enter the Arena
New? Start here! “Welcome, one and all, to the one-hundred-ninety-seventh annual Proving Grounds! As our queen’s Minister of Public Affairs, I am incredibly proud to present my sixth year organizing this prestigious event. This tournament goes back…” Eve tuned the posh man out, turning left to ask Preston across the empty seat between them, “When’s the fighting start?” The healer shrugged. “Whenever he’s done with his speech. Not sure why we need all the pomp for day one.” Eve had to agree. From her vantage high up in the coliseum seating, the overwhelmingly empty bleachers spoke to the unimportance of the early rounds, at least as far as spectators were concerned. There was a smattering of viewers, predominantly friends and family of the competitors, scattered about the stands, as well as a few higher level individuals that Eve assumed represented the less-successful mercenary groups, but she wouldn’t be impressing much of anyone that day. Hells, the Dragonwrought probably wouldn’t show up until the finals. A few bookies wandered the sparse crowds, offering bets on the first fight of the day, but few accepted. They hadn’t even seen the fighters yet. The long-winded speech continued, “As we wind up for the first bout, I’d like to again thank her holiness Archbishop Callandria for her pivotal role today and throughout the tournament.” A gray-haired woman in priestess robes of gold-lined white and a fancy hat stood and nodded. Eve didn’t need to Appraise her to know her class or that her level would only show as question marks. The minister spoke on. “Without her Cheat Death, we couldn’t hope to present to you all the spectacle that has become so core to Pyrindel’s…” Where’s Wes? Art’s sending drowned out the emcee’s prattling. Preston patted the hatchling—who unlike Reginald could pass as vaguely human with a loose-fitting cloak and hood—on the head. “He’s down there.” The Caretaker pointed at one of the dark archways leading into the bowels of the coliseum. “He’ll come out when it’s his turn to fight.” The buzz of chatter around the arena faded as the announcer finished his speech. “And without further ado, I’d like to welcome out our first competitors! From Pyrindel, a level fifty-six Geomancer, Peter Shind!” Two people on the far side of the coliseum that Eve could only take to be the man’s parents broke out into cheers and applause while the aforementioned Geomancer stepped out onto the sand. “From Barrowsted, a level fifty-two Sword Dancer, Priya Estellian!” Eve had never heard of Barrowsted, and apparently neither had any of the other spectators, as not a single person cheered for the leather clad Sword Dancer. Even so, the stands became a flurry of activity as audience members clambered to place their bets before the fighting started. Unfortunately for Eve, none of the bookies were near enough for her to make her pick. “Contestants! You may begin!” Peter got a spell off before Priya could even take a step. With a wave of his hand, a dozen fist-sized stones broke away from the arena floor, rising to the air. Priya dashed forward. Peter fired. All at once the stone projectiles shot through the air, homing in on the changing swordswoman. She sidestepped them all. The Geomancer was ready though, and another barrage soon followed, each rock’s path curving differently to obscure their destination. Priya drew her first sword. With a flash of enchanted steel and a cascade of sparks, she swung, knocking the stones away. Eve watched wide-eyed as the shrapnel flew through the air, her mind not even computing its path until Preston leapt to his feet. In a display of reaction that put her to shame, the Caretaker threw up a barrier of golden light, his Ayla’s Ward ready to intercept the wayward projectile. It never did. The air before them shimmered and the stone crumbled as it struck an invisible barricade. Preston lowered his ward. He blushed. “Right,” he sheepishly muttered, “arena’s enchanted for that.” Eve reached across Wes’s empty seat to patronizingly pat him on the back. “It’s alright. At least you did something. I was about to just sit and watch that rock kill me.” A flash of golden light pulled Eve’s attention back to the fight just in time to watch Peter Shind collapse to the ground. Priya stood over him, one sword bloodied and another still in its sheath. “Victor: Priya Estellian!” “She looks strong.” Eve watched as a pair of healers rushed out to stabilize the fallen Geomancer. Cheat Death might’ve kept his head attached to his shoulders, but it sure as hells didn’t stop the bleeding. “They’re all strong,” Preston replied. “It’s a tournament for tier 4s and high-rarity tier 3s.” For his part, Art was too busy furiously clapping his taloned hands as the Sword Dancer took a bow and vacated the arena. Who’s next? Next, as it turned out, were two plate-wearing juggernauts that spent the better part of an hour bashing their shields against each other until one finally ran out of Stamina. Eve paid the dull exchange little heed, though she did make a note of the victor’s name just in case he managed something more impressive in the later rounds. The party did need a new tank, after all. Not even Art offered much in the way of applause as the second bout ended, though that changed promptly as the emcee announced a certain Disciple of the Devouring Flame from Nowherested. While the hatchling and Preston cheered in support of their friend, Eve looked over the archer he found himself up against. “How much you wanna bet that Wes takes an arrow to the face?” Preston shrugged. “Five silver?” “Done.” Eve shook his hand. “Contestants! You may begin!” The archer nocked an arrow. Wes erupted in flames. The mage himself became a living inferno as he activated Forged in Flames. He stepped forward. Around him the sand itself caught fire, the blaze creeping outward first in inches, then in feet. With his second spell, Wes expanded the firestorm around him, spreading the cloak into a massive wall. With her sharp eyes, Eve could just make out his silhouette moving within the flames. As the first arrow flew wide, it became clear that Wes’s opponent couldn’t. Eve had to admit it was a wise strategy. His Flame Jet couldn’t out-speed a well-aimed Huntsman’s Arrow, so it made sense to hide his position and let the inexorable blaze do its work. And work it did. The archer fired shot after shot as he desperately backpedalled from the spreading flames, slowly running out of places to run. Eve watched with a grin as one random arrow flew but inches from Wes’s shoulder, but the Disciple fought on. It wasn’t until Eve herself felt the heat of the blaze kiss her skin that she noticed the tournament official frantically waving both arms at the emcee. “Halt!” The air boomed with the minister’s shout. “Competitors, lay down your arms!” The archer dropped his bow. The fire spread on, carefully climbing the walls of the coliseum. “I said halt!” All at once the flames vanished, revealing Wes where he stood in the arena’s center. “Did I win?” “Contestant Wesley Rollund is hereby disqualified for, and I can’t believe I’m about to say this, burning the wards.” “I’m what?” Wes outburst. In his customary nasally tone, the emcee explained. “Forces beyond our ability to protect the crowd are disallowed in all tournament matches. How a tier 3 came into possession of such is another question. Yern Binne is the victor by default.” The crowd gaped. Art applauded. Eve dug out five silver from her pocket, paying Preston his winnings. “Thank you, thank you,” the Caretaker accepted the coins. “Better luck next time.” “That’s okay,” Eve said, “I can always shoot him myself if I get the urge.” Only once the enchanters finished repairing Wes’s damage and the next bout was underway did the fire mage emerge into the stands, climbing his way up the stone steps to take his seat between Eve and Preston. “Well, it’s not quite the crushing win I was hoping for, but I’m sure it’ll impress the mercenary companies.” “You mean all three of them that actually showed up today?” Eve needled him. “I’m sure the bottom-feeders were very impressed.” Wes shrugged. “Word’ll get around. It’s not often they disqualify someone for being too powerful.” “Maybe next time you should attack your opponent instead of the wards,” Eve snapped back. “Speaking of,” Preston interrupted as the bout in front of them ended with a brutal ice bolt to the chest, “aren’t you up soon?” “Yeah, yeah.” Eve pushed herself to her feet. “It’s not like I have much prep to do.” She gestured over herself, emphasizing that she already wore her armor. “You should still get down there,” Wes said. “Those tunnels are a damned maze.” “Alright, damn,” Eve replied, turning to leave the stands. “It’s not like I’m gonna get lost.” Eve got lost. After losing some twenty minutes running back and forth down the twisting passages beneath the arena, the Defiant found herself standing in the same archway as her opponent, a brooding berserker-type with more muscles than charisma. “Whoops, wrong entrance,” she said, “guess I got turned around.” He grunted at her. Just as Eve moved to again start searching for her entrance, the emcee’s voice echoed in from outside. “First we have… hmmm… a level fifty-one Emissary from New Burendia, Evelia Greene!” “Shit—um—sorry,” Eve muttered, running past the dark figure and out into the arena. Her face flushed red as she dashed across the sands to take her place on the opposite side. “She’ll be facing one of our tournament favorites, a level sixty-three Hewer of Bones from the Salfdir Clan, Roric Ironarm!” Eve got her first look at her opponent as he stepped into the sunlit arena. He stood six and a half feet tall and what must’ve been nearly three hundred pounds of pure muscle. Eve could tell because from the waist up, every inch of that muscle was exposed to the open air. In each hand he carried a single-edged axe, both of which showed the marks of countless battles fought and won. He’s perfect. High level tournament favorite or otherwise, Eve couldn’t have asked for a better matchup. Her griffin-bone club outranged his one-handed axes, and she doubted a Hewer of Bones had any good ways to stop her Defiant Charge. She readied her weapon. “Contestants! You may begin!” Eve Jetted forward, activating Charge and Mana Rush at the same moment. I may as well end this quick, she thought to herself. Roric did the same, dashing forth to meet her head on. He pulled back his axes for a brutal two-handed strike. But Eve’s club was longer, and she made the first attack. Her heart raced as the griffin-bone swung through the air, her muscles only holding up to their own immense Strength thanks to the Constitution bonus from Defiant Charge. It was exhilarating. Even here, without the direct threat of a painful death, adrenaline pumped through Eve’s veins. Her attack flew true, the flared tip of the huge bone shooting towards Roric’s head at an unfathomable speed. Until it wasn’t. The blow stopped short, striking an impenetrable barricade of golden light. The rebound sent Eve’s club flying from her grasp. For a moment she froze, staring forward in abject terror before she realized her opponent was just as shocked as she was. It wasn’t the announcer’s posh voice which broke the silence, but the wizened one of a particular Archbishop. “She wins,” the elderly priestess’s words echoed across the arena. “Evelia Greene is the victor.” “Ramtshit!” Roric bellowed. “That wasn’t Cheat Death.” “Cheat Death wouldn’t have saved you. Not against that.” “That’s ramtshit!” The berserker repeated. “Let me fight!” The Archbishop didn’t reply, simply turning to whisper something into the ear of one of her aides. Said aide carried the message on to the announcer. With wide eyes and barely noticeable quiver to his tone, the minister addressed the crowd. “Archbishop Callandria has been kind enough to bestow a Divine Intervention to halt an attack that would’ve overcome even Cheat Death. Evelia Greene is the victor.” Roric raged. “You didn’t even let me fight! I demand a rematch.” “Roric Ironarm,” the announcer continued, “is eliminated.” From there, the over-muscled brawler engaged in a shouting match with the tournament organizer. Eve, meanwhile, took the opportunity to collect her club from where it’d fallen and vacate the arena. Berserkers had a penchant for getting angry, after all, and easy as her win had come, she’d prefer not to fight him again without the protection of Cheat Death. She re-navigated the maze of tunnels with a sly grin. Sure, she had a pissed-off Hewer of Bones to worry about, but Eve couldn’t have asked for a more decisive victory. An Emissary beating a tournament favorite so bad the Archbishop herself had to intervene made for two hells of a story. If her goal was to impress the mercenary companies, this was a damned good first step. And she still had an entire tournament left. 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Hello everyone! I apologise sincerely for the delay in predictions this week, I had a lot happening, Blood tests for glucose levels and such, a Job interview, overall not feeling super well, but I didn't want to let you guys down. This is a fun card, not an amazingly stacked card, but a fun one, and an end to the question "Can two team mates destroy each other in the Octagon?". (c) - Champ (D) - Debut FLS - Fight Lose Streak FWS - Fight Win Streak NS - No Streak (#x) - Rank in Division Lets go! Prelims Women’s Flyweight Gillian Robertson (#13) (9-5-0, NS) v Miranda Maverick (8-2-0, 6 FWS) - This is an incredible match up. Robertson is a savage, one of the most underrated and dangerous submission artists in the division who hasn’t really gotten a strong hold on climbing the ranks. Regardless of her record, she has an excellent ground game, she works incredibly hard to get the fight to the ground, and when she does, she instantly works for a submission position, and most of the time, that works and her opponents succumb to pressure and present their neck or limb. Now, a lot of her opponents are aware of the threats on the ground and now work to avoid and defend takedowns, and thus keep the fight on the feet. This is key for Maverick, and I firmly believe that Maverick can quickly outpower Robertson, she’s an incredibly physically strong fighter who has great power in her hands, and being so young in her career. She has made great strides in her career since her debut in Invicta in which she dominated most of her fights. She has pretty effective striking, and she throws leather when needed, but most of her best work is done on the ground, she’s a very good submission artist and even though she’s probably not going to force the fight to the ground against a great grappler like Robertson, she would know how to get out of submission positions and work back to the feet. I love Robertson, she’s an animal, but she’s relatively one dimensional, and I love what I see in Miranda. So, another hype train i'm gonna ride for a little longer… Maverick via KO R2 Welterweight Gabe Green (9-3-0, NS) v Philip Rowe (D) (7-2-0, 7 FWS) - This is a great fight between two newcomers, Green had a fantastic debut against Rodriguez, and even though he did lose, he did manage to put on an incredible performance, he even came in as a late replacement so this wasn’t a full camp performance and yet he still landed 120 plus strikes, and he ate shots from Daniel Rodrigeuz for 15 minutes, it was a beautiful, violent fight. I love how Green fights, he has an interesting defensive shell and he gives off a lot of different looks that allowed him to land a few decent shots on Rodriguez. Green will no doubt look a little bit different this time around because he has had a full camp and is more prepared for this fight. Rowe has turned around his career since his two back to back losses at the start of his professional career. Nothing but submissions and knockouts on his record, but in regards to this fight, he has one major advantage and that’s his reach, he’s very long, and has a 7.5 inch reach advantage, if he can avoid the pressure of Green (and Green is the type of fighter to push forward nonstop), and maybe take the fight to the ground, I can see Rowe getting a slick submission in, because from what I can see when it comes to Green’s chin, it’s pretty damn solid. So the best bet for Rowe in my opinion is to take it to the ground, and slip in a choke. Rowe via Sub R2 Featherweight Ricky Simon (17-3-0, 2 FWS) v Brian Kelleher (22-11-0, NS) - Any fight that has Ricky Simon in it, sign me up to watch it end to end because Simon is a specimen. I could easily copy and paste what i wrote about Simon when he fought Pirrello, but this time it’s a little bit different, it’s at featherweight and he will no doubt be carrying more mass, exuding more energy when he throws punches, or slams opponents, and that’s a bit dangerous when coming against someone who has fought in Featherweight beforehand in Kelleher, but the skillset and the power will still be there, i’m just weary about his cardio, Simon has excellent cardio at Bantamweight, but at Featherweight that’s a whole different question. Simon is incredible at creating pressure and throwing everything he has into every round, wild striking, vicious wrestling and a non-stop pace that is as exhausting for us as it is for his opponent, and that’s a good thing. Simon is facing a very durable and experienced, well rounded fighter in Kelleher though. Kelleher has an interesting array of techniques, with his signature, most mastered technique being a guillotine, but his stance (a somewhat blocky wrestling/striking hybrid) allows him to stand firm, defend any takedowns and throw hard, and with Kellehers proclivity to takedown and wrestle, his stance also allows him to dip and level change effortlessly, he’s a very good wrestler as well so he has a huge variety of weapons he can use to defeat Simon, but honestly, i’m still riding a Simon hype train, and I feel like by the time Kelleher throws something, Simon would be somewhere else, out of view and attacking, Simon is fast, durable, exceptionally well rounded and always entertains. Lets go Simon! Simon via UD Catchweight (140) Andre Ewell (17-6-0, 2 FWS) v Chris Gutierrez (15-3-2, NS) - This is an interesting match up. Ewell is someone who a lot of people kinda overlook because of how talent rich the division is, but if there’s one thing you need to keep an eye out for with Ewell, it’s his volume, he just throws, and throws, and throws. He is a kickboxer at heart, and his length and range allow him to adjust his style of attacking to fit the situation. He can keep at bay aggressive fighters by hitting then evading, he can push forward relatively aggressively, but he’s somewhat smart about his range whenever he strikes. His left straight is by far his best weapon, but he does have one flaw, and that is he looks maybe too loose on the feet at times, if you look at the Jonathan Martinez fight, you’ll notice that he was milliseconds away from being cleanly hit by Martinez’s super fast kicks, you can’t take that risk when you fight someone like Gutierrez. Gutierrez is a powerful striker, everything he throws is just… dangerous, and sharp, and has the shortest travel time from Point A to B, it’s pretty awesome to watch him get loose in the octagon, landing heavy leg kicks, body kicks, combo’s, anything really, The way he methodically dismantled Morales was beautiful, those leg kicks were powerful, landing in the same spot over and over again. Gutierrez landed 36 leg kicks in that fight I believe. He had a gameplan and he followed it through. He will need to do the same to disable the aggression from Ewell, chop at those legs, bring Ewells hands lower than they sometimes already are, then target the head. That’s what I feel like will happen. Gutierrez via KO R3 Women’s Strawweight Polyana Viana (11-4-0, NS) v Mallory Martin (7-3-0, NS) - Odd little tidbit I noticed, this is the second Strawweight fight of 2021, both the Bantamweight and Flyweight divisions have way more fights, so i’m glad Strawweight is getting a little bit of love. Viana is a great submission artist, she’s always looking for the fight to go to the ground so she can work her magic, Viana is like a snake on the ground, always finding the better positions to fire off a few submission attempts, and whilst her striking isn’t exactly clean or effective, that threat of being knocked out is always going to be there. Martin has a solid stand up game, she’s got decent striking and mixes her attacks very well, and I strongly feel that she will want to keep this fight standing otherwise she’s going to get outworked on the ground. I’m not too sure about who is going to win this fight though, if it goes to the ground Viana has a solid chance of getting the win, but Mallory is a tough striker to beat, and I’m not too sure if Viana will want to risk a striking exchange. This could be a methodical, boring fight, i’m not too hype about this fight, but overall i’ll be leaning on Martin to win. Martin via UD Welterweight Dhiego Lima (15-7-0, 3 FWS) v Belal Muhammad (#15) (17-3-0, 3 FWS) - An incredible match up to start this event. Lima is a super tough fighter, and whilst he hasn’t had a finish in quite a while, he still puts on pretty decent performances. Recently his performances haven’t been super good, throwing but not landing, grappling seems to be his main weapon, but with how inactive Lima has been, and how sporadic his fighting timeline has been, it’s pretty hard to see too many positives in comparison to the rise that Belal Muhammad has had in recent years. Muhammad is an animal at the moment, his style makes it very difficult to take him on, or even read him. He has two major threats for most of his opponents, his wrestling and his powerful, crashing right hand. He typically dips to level change but then launches that right hand. His wrestling is incredible and he is quite controlling when it comes to the ground game. Everything about Belal is something I like to see in a developing fighter. I can see Lima getting hit brutally over and over with those power right hands, then taken down and eventually submitted. Muhammad via Sub R3 Middleweight Rodolfo Vieira (7-0-0, 7 FWS) v Anthony Hernandez (7-2-0, NS) - A very interesting fight, and it’s always good to see an undefeated heavy favourite put his streak on the line. Vieira is a submission specialist, not a submission artist, a specialist, that’s a whole different level of whoa. Over 100 grappling bouts, multiple gold medals and tournament wins, Vieira is one of the most accredited grapplers that the UFC has at the moment, that’s still young and still has a chance to show off his striking, but holy crap he’s a solid grappler… he won 5 championships in 3 years, that’s not only impressive, but on a whole different level of skill. He’s called the Black Belt Hunter for a reason and well, Hernandez is going to go to sleep if he’s not careful. Hernandez has had a rough time in the UFC, and i’m hoping they’re giving him this fight not to beef up Vieira, but to give Hernandez an excuse to stay in the UFC. Hernandez has had some decent wins in his career, but most of those wins were in LFA. In the UFC he hasn’t been too successful, his recent loss against Holland kinda showed me that he isn’t great at being pressured, and if Vieira pushes forward, works hard for a takedown and absolutely dominates from there, I don’t see Hernandez getting the upper hand on the ground, he has a punchers chance but I mean… Vieira is a phenom at the moment, a rare addition to the UFC and i’m on the train, first class tickets! Vieira via Sub R1 Main Card Middleweight Julian Marquez (7-2-0, NS) v Maki Pitolo (13-7-0, 2 FLS) - It’s a shame that 2020 was a horrible year for Pitolo. Marquez is coming back from a 2 year hiatus, after suffering a heavy loss at the hands of Alessio Di Chirico, or as we now probably call him, the Hype Train Derailer. Marquez is a powerhouse, he explodes and lands incredibly hard, he has insane power in his hands and everything he does has that extra oomph that you can probably hear in a full arena. Marquez however is somewhat one dimensional with his style, he loves to strike, he loves chaos and hates order, and that’s going to be dangerous for Pitolo because numerous times we’ve seen Pitolo succumb to pressure. Pitolo is a mad man, don’t get me wrong, he has insane striking, he’s wild, a showman and someone who you really want to see fight for a while, but he can’t go one on one against Marquez and think “i’ll just go wild”, he needs to keep Marquez pushing him for the first round, see where the cardio holds up (I don’t think Marquez has much cardio because of how explosive he is), and then start attacking him in the second or third, but again, it’s hard for me to tell how good a returning fighter is cardio wise, so this is a very rough prediction. I’m leaning on the Cuban Missile Crisis to win this one though. Marquez via KO R1 Lightweight Bobby Green (27-11-1, NS) v Jim Miller (32-15-0, NS) - Green is lowkey one of my most favourite fighters, the amount of work he does in the octagon is pretty impressive, especially when you watch his fight against Vannata, that fight will go down as a classic I can assure you. Green has gorgeous boxing, he’s incredibly crisp and fast with his punches, and he has his wrestling to add even more frustration and drain his opponents of their gas. Green had one set back during 2020 and that was against the incredibly talented Thiago Moises. Green has every skill that one would need to succeed in the UFC, especially with his crisp boxing and head movement, he’s going to be a dangerous fighter for Miller who has a more grapple heavy approach. Miller has had some significant wins over his very extensive career, recently submitting Clay Guida, Roosevelt Roberts and Jason Gonzalez to name a few, Miller is a dangerous, dangerous grappler, he can strike though but not to great efficiency, he mostly uses his striking to set up a takedown, where he does his most effective work. Miller is on a rough run at the moment, ever since losing to Anthony Pettis, or even prior to that against Poirier, he hasn’t really strung together any major streaks, a win here and there, but nothing to great significance, and since this is the Lightweight division we’re talking about, significance is important. I have Green in this fight, he can keep this fight on the feet, keep at a distance and keep striking, he’ll win this one. Green via UD Middleweight Kelvin Gastelum (#11) (16-6-0, 3 FLS) v Ian Heinisch (#15) (14-3-0, NS) - This is going to be beautiful. Gastelum has incredible boxing, he’s the only one that gave Israel Adesanya trouble on the feet by using his beautiful pressure and interesting hopping technique that got him into range. Gastelum is on a losing streak but he has faced incredibly tough challenges. He went to war with Adesanya, he fought a highly technical bout against Till and has now lost to the submission artist in Hermansson. He is now facing the wild and explosive Ian Heinisch, which is going to be a brutally tough fight because Heinisch is pretty damn aggressive and has explosive takedowns that come with his explosive strikes, overall, Heinisch is an explosive dude and a perfect matchup for a methodical and tactical boxer like Gastelum. Heinisch is someone who is always improving, so there’s no doubt that what you saw in 2020 will be what you get in 2021 and more. That makes me wonder what his game plan will be, whether he will come in with a wrestling heavy approach to negate the power that Gastelum has on his feet, or if he’ll be incredibly aggressive and keep Gastelums back glued to the fence. Either way, Heinisch is going to be unpredictable, and I think it will be a true test of what Gastelum can accomplish if he can handle Heinisch. This is a great fight, one that I don’t want to overtalk this fight because well, it’s hard predicting a fighter on a losing streak, to win, i’ve done that one too many times (Michael Johnson being the most recent one) and it didn’t turn out how I expected… So this is a risky prediction, but War Gastelum! Gastelum via KO R2 Co-Main Event Women’s Flyweight Maycee Barber (#9) (8-1-0, NS) v Alexa Grasso (12-3-0, NS) - An interesting fight to say the least. Barber is coming off a heavy loss and a horrible injury to her knee, so there’s a lot of variables coming into this fight. Barber has always been an incredibly aggressive and tough fighter, she pushes forward, launching punch after punch that can overwhelm her opponents, she put away Robertson very effectively, bloodied up Cifers and destroyed Aldrich. She’s no doubt still a prospect and if she can get past Grasso then that certifies her prospect status in the Flyweight division. The one thing i'm worried about is her knee… It was probably her first ever injury and that would hang on your mind for quite a while. Barber is going to have to get past the excellent boxing of Grasso if she is to win this one though, and that’s going to be pretty tough. Grasso has made her rounds in the UFC before, facing pretty much every up and comer that the UFC threw at her, Grasso is yet to get a solid winning streak going and her main weakness seems to be her ground game, She doesn’t have the best takedown defence, nor the best defensive submissions, her main style is her boxing, and if she can avoid the ground with Barber and keep the fight on the feet, I can see Grasso getting the upper hand. But Barber is a solid, solid prospect and one minor setback isn’t going to hurt her. Barber is still a very promising fighter and i’m gonna lean on her a little bit longer. Barber via UD Main Event Welterweight Championship bout Kamaru Usman (c) (17-1-0, 16 FWS) v Gilbert Burns (#4) (19-3-0, 6 FWS) - A fight that we all needed to see. Every match up has happened but this one. Usman is an athletic freak, he’s one of the most durable and strongest welterweights in the division right now, his wrestling is incredible, his striking is somewhat great, his cardio is neverending, and he has defeated the best the welterweight division has to offer, all but one. So many people think Usman is boring, the whole footstomp meme is everywhere this week and whilst it’s a good chuckle, I feel like some people are sleeping on the potential that this guy has. There is so much story behind this fight, training partners, Usman leaving his own gym to train with Wittman (which is a pretty great substitute), we might see a change in style from Usman, because I highly doubt he will wrestle with Burns considering Burns is one of the best BJJ practitioners in the welterweight division. I feel like Usman will try to trade hands with Burns, or at least grapple against the fence but not on the ground. Burns is one of the most improved fighters of the division, he was mostly a submission artist but in the last year or two, we have seen him become far more comfortable on the feet, and that throws off a lot of his opponents. His ability to change and adapt, and include striking to his skillset is second to none the best change I have seen in a fighter. It’s kinda like when Gaethje finally learnt to become patient and we saw an upgrade to Gaethje’s skill set. This is what is happening to Burns at the moment, we are seeing a newborn striker who carries significant power and isn’t afraid to show it. This is a super tough fight to predict. Both fighters have a solid chance of winning… but I feel like Usman will be holding onto that gold a little longer. I’m feeling a little ballsy with this prediction. Usman via KO R4 And that's it! Again, sorry for the late predictions, been a stupid crazy week. f you wish to support me please message me and i can provide details on how you can do so. If you would like to follow me on twitter, you can find me @Slayer_Tip or if you want, add me on discord and we can have a super friendly chat about all things MMA: Slayertip#7013 Lets have a fun discussion down below, let me know if you agree/disagree with my picks :) But for now, have a beautiful week, take care of yourselves :)
The Trump Campaign's Accusations of Voter Fraud: An Exhaustive Analysis and Fact Check
Full disclosure: I'm not a Trump fan in the slightest. I don't spend an extraordinary amount of time talking about that fact on Reddit; but some of my comments do indeed express this view, either by way of serious commentary or lighthearted joking. At the same time, I take impartial analysis and fact checking extremely seriously. I always push back against weak and/or unfounded accusations that are made against Trump, as I do for all other political figures — something I've done both on this account and on FactCheckHuman, my dedicated fact checking account. Usually, my fact checks don't run much more than a couple of paragraphs. In some instances, though, I've done ultra–deep dives into an issue. This current post can certainly be considered one of these. As with any other fact check, the ultimate aim of these write-ups is simply to determine what is or isn't true; or what is or isn't likely to be true. At the same time, this post also genuinely intends to persuade people of the speciousness and toxicity of the Trump campaign's current claims about voter fraud. To tell the truth, I kind of approached it as a synthesis of conversations I've been having with my conservative friends and family members, who are really on board with the Trump position on election integrity. In any case, not everything is as simple as finding the facts and evidence, and letting these speak for themselves. Ideally that's how we want things to be; but often times there are a number of ambiguities that prevent this from being done so easily, in terms of varying interpretations that the evidence permits. In these instances, we basically have to make a reasonable judgment call about what's likely to be the case: educated guesses that try to fill in some of the gaps in the evidence. Even here, though, I try to be similarly rigorous, and take a lead from what I call critical parsimony. In short, this tries to find the most "normal" and least sensational/conspiratorial explanation for something, while also bearing in mind some of the complexities and anomalies that might complicate the issue. Often times, these two different or seemingly contradictory aspects come together when we encounter some event or phenomenon that superficially seems exceptional and counterintuitive, but which turns out to be much less unusual than it appears to be. In short, this allows extraordinary events to be, well, rare. In line with that last point, one of the most insightful things we can look at is events and situations, usually from the recent past, which can help contextualize and elucidate various things that have taken place in the current election — and things which have taken place in terms of people's reaction to this. So things like looking back to the 2016 or 2012 election can be crucial here, or other historical events that can give precedent for what's happening in 2020, and shed light on it. I suppose the most obvious point of departure for this post is what we might describe as a main "narrative" that Donald Trump and the Trump campaign and its supporters have advanced in response to the election itself: that the election has been unusually fraught with irregularities and duplicitous/fraudulent intentions. Responsibility for these irregularities have almost always been placed at the feet of Democrats, and is clearly taken to represent an effort on Democrats' part to steal the election. Obviously, I think a lot of Trump supporters and conservatives have accepted this narrative more or less at face value. Even before getting into some of the actual specifics of the claims of voter fraud, though, one thing that I've called attention to from the outset is how we might first consider the initial motivations behind the narrative itself a bit more critically, and how it comes together in the first place. Not to get too philosophical or anything, but it's worth pointing out that whenever we have a political "narrative" like this, it's somewhat of an artificial construct. A bunch of different phenomena or allegations are brought together and crammed into one explanatory framework. Nuance or ambiguity becomes something secondary to promoting the narrative. Far too often, the cast is full of stereotyped protagonists and antagonists, divided along party lines. Further, it's important not to lose sight of everything that's paved the way for such a bitter partisan narrative to emerge in the first place. The electoral process itself probably never been neutral affair, and is still intensely partisan in numerous aspects — from the emergence of the Electoral College itself, to the crafting and enforcing of state voting laws and guidelines. At lower levels, issues of gerrymandering have been a serious problem; and at all levels, different political parties have fought in the courts to try to influence voter eligibility and voter turnout in their own favor. In tandem with this, beyond the judiciary itself, political parties also wage many of these same battles in the court of public opinion. In this current instance, the overarching narrative in question — of Democrat attempts to unlawfully steal the election — indeed seems to target public opinion above all else. And it far predates the 2020 election itself, too. Even before running in 2015, Trump had previously suggested that President Obama's original election was assisted by fraudulent votes being cast by dead voters. During the 2016 Iowa caucus, Trump accused Ted Cruz and his campaign of having committed fraud, and called for a "new election" or that the results be nullified; and he leveled a similar accusation against Marco Rubio in the Florida primary, too. In August of 2016, regarding the general election, Trump claimed that "[t]he only way we can lose . . . Pennsylvania . . . is if cheating goes on." He continued to frequent challenge the integrity of the election leading up to November; and even after his victory, he stated that he "won the popular vote if you deduct the millions of people who voted illegally" — implying there had been upwards of 3 million "illegal" votes. Very closely echoing what we'd see in 2020, after the 2018 Florida Senatorial election, Trump stated that "[t]he Florida Election should be called in favor of Rick Scott and Ron DeSantis in that large numbers of new ballots showed up out of nowhere, and many ballots are missing or forged. An honest vote count is no longer possible-ballots massively infected. Must go with Election Night!" In May and June 2020, Trump began ramping up claims that fraudulent mail-in ballots would be printed in vast droves, both by domestic entities and "maybe by the millions by foreign powers." Again, this would be insisted on time and time again; and finally, echoing his sentiments in late November 2016, on November 7 Trump declared that "I WON THIS ELECTION, BY A LOT!", and later reiterating that he received 71,000,000 "legal" votes. (An exhaustive catalogue of Trump's allegations re: voter fraud can be found here.) It's hard to deny that Trump's public-facing view has always proposed voter fraud and irregularities as ubiquitous things affecting a large number of elections. But it's precisely the one-sidedness of his seeing monsters in every shadow here that points toward another explanation. Trump's accusatory or even paranoid worldview can be seen as something like a microcosm reflecting a much wider trend in historical political rhetoric around elections. Even when Trump is taken out of the picture altogether, the propagandistic function of allegations of election fraud has still been frequently noted by a number of scholars and historians who specialize in election studies. In a 2007 paper for the Brennan Center for Justice at the NYU School of Law, for example, American constitutional law scholar Justin Levitt calls attention to the emotional resonance that claims of voter fraud can elicit — and also notes its prevalence because of this:
Allegations of election-related fraud make for enticing press. Voter fraud, in particular, has the feel of a bank heist caper: roundly condemned but technically fascinating, and sufficiently lurid to grab and hold headlines. Perhaps because these stories are dramatic, voter fraud makes a popular scapegoat. In the aftermath of a close election, losing candidates are often quick to blame voter fraud for the results, and legislators cite voter fraud as justification for various new restrictions on the exercise of the franchise. ("The Truth About Voter Fraud," abstract)
Similarly, Raymond Gastil, writing in an article in the journal Studies In Comparative International Development in 1990, noted that
in many new or transitional countries, it is standard practice for the opposition to point out before the election how the government will "steal" the election. If the opposition loses, it will then make strenuous claims that the election was stolen. Thus the ARENA party in El Salvador has claimed fraud in each of the several elections in the 1980s; most recently it won the election and yet claimed that it was robbed of the greater win to which it was entitled. Claims and counterclaims of this nature are seldom subject to verification, even for those on the ground.
Although the U.S. obviously isn't a new or transitional country, it's impossible not to see close parallels to the accusations of Trump here — especially the similarity between the claim of having been "robbed of the greater win to which it was entitled" and Trump sweetening his electoral win by insisting that he won the popular vote, too, so long as "illegal" votes are deducted from the tally. But when these claims are put to the test, in actuality, scholarly studies have long demonstrated that the prevalence of true voter fraud in general in U.S. elections is minuscule. A Brennan Center for Justice special report on voter fraud compiles and links to many if not most major studies on voter fraud in the U.S., concluding that together these studies paint a clear picture that voter fraud "very rarely happens." (See also my Endnote for more on this.) So, statistics paints a much different picture than political rhetoric would have us believe. If the bogeyman here is more of a phantasm than anything, however, it's still a powerful tool for influencing electorates: "voter fraud and voter suppression allegations are strongly used as a mobilization tool by parties during significant elections (Hasen, 2012; Levitt, 2007)." (This quote is taken from Fogarty, Kimball and Kosnik's article "The Media, Voter Fraud, and the U.S. 2012 Elections," published in the Journal of Elections, Public Opinion and Parties. This article is especially worth reading to get a bit more background about some of the things that set the stage for the 2016 and 2020 elections and their rhetoric.) One last thing: Population growth and other factors have led to a vastly increased number of voters over the past couple of decades. In 2000, just a little over 100 million people voted, while in the current election this number went up to 130 million. Further, the transition to electronic voting and the use of tabulating machines has increased significantly during this time, too. Because of these things — all further complicated by COVID this year — both statistics and common wisdom alone should lead us to expect a large number of voting irregularities. But it's also important not to conflate irregularities with voter fraud. Irregularities are simply errors, that don't necessarily require bad human intentions at all. However, with realpolitik at its ugly peak in the election cycle, this offers an opportunity for political pundits to read deliberate ill intentions into these incidents, whether by innuendo or explicit accusation. But it should also be kept in mind that if irregularities are unintentional, and if political affiliation in the U.S. is split roughly equally, then these irregularities should also affect the two political parties roughly equally; probably in similar proportions. Finally, the increasing partisan divide between media outlets, along with their selective coverage, probably makes it easy to overlook (or perhaps forget) the great number of lawsuits routinely filed by both Democratic and Republican attorneys, both in the lead-up to the election and in the wake of its inevitable irregularities: efforts to block or secure votes from voting populations likely to favor one or the other of the two parties. It should be clear here, then, that an overemphasis on irregularities and claims and fraud are often treated as rhetorical and legal tools in service of political self-interests. With all these things considered — and again, even if we set the political situation in 2020 aside, along with some of the specific claims of voter fraud that are currently being made — this should still give us ample reason to rethink how accusations of voter fraud function more broadly: what's in it for those making these accusations, politically speaking; how these claimants often see little use for factual accuracy or measured analysis here; and how this perpetuates toxic discourse and bad-faith assumptions. Claims of Election Irregularities and Fraud in 2020: A Catalogue and Commentary So this second part of the post is going to be a sort of compendium of a lot of the major allegations of voting irregularities and voter fraud that have been circulating, followed by a critical analysis of these. While some of these irregularities are clearly broad and would affect both political parties, I'm pretty sure that almost every one of these claims has circulated widely in conservative and/or pro-Trump sources; and most have been interpreted as a partisan attack on election integrity. I'm sure that there have been other incidents or alleged incidents that have circulated on the left; but this post is already extremely long and took quite a while to write, and I don't want to make more work for myself. I'll probably be updating this in the days to come, as more info on various things comes out. Finally, as a sort of transition point between my probably-far-too-long prologue and the catalogue, I think it can be very instructive to take a look at a compendium of voting irregularities in 2016 — to help get some additional context and perspective for how similar issues can and did surface in the 2020 election. Claim: It's suspicious how additional Biden votes have kept magically appearing, long after election day, pushing his total over Trump's prior total. Response: I've put this in the initial position because it seems to be one of the most common observations of accusations: it was one of the first that Trump made, and which he continued to repeat. But among all the different accusations here, this has one of the most mundane explanations. Prior to the election itself, and noting various state laws pertaining to the tabulation of mail-in votes, various commentators called attention to a likely phenomenon of delayed results for mail-in ballots — which have skewed heavily Democrat. Dave Wassermann noted, for example, that
in northern battlegrounds such as Michigan, Pennsylvania and Wisconsin . . . officials are not permitted to begin processing mail ballots until the day of the election (or, in Michigan's case, the day before). In those states, a "red mirage" of Trump-heavy Election Day votes could linger until larger metro counties report huge tranches of early ballots later in the evening.
(As for mail-in votes skewing highly Democrat, this also has mundane explanations. For reasons that are less than clear, on numerous occasions Trump strongly discouraged his supporters from voting by mail. Unfortunately I don't have the room to fully get into this, though there's certainly some interesting/surprising data about just how overwhelmingly blue mail-in voting skewed even in a number of red strongholds.) Further, sometimes this claim has appeared in the bit more specific iteration, suggesting that it wasn't just suspicious how Biden votes kept coming in to counteract Trump's tally, but also how precisely Biden's total crept past Trump — as if it was known exactly how many votes Biden needed to just barely scrape past him. But this also has a deceptively simple explanation: the extremely slim margin of victory for Biden in states like Michigan, Wisconsin, and Pennsylvania basically mirrored the same ultra-slim margin of victory for Trump in these same states in 2016, but now just the other way around. Honing in on PA, for example, we can also see how Biden just marginally outperformed Clinton in terms of cutting into Trump's lead in many red areas. Even the 2016 election in Georgia saw a significant blue shift, especially in the Atlanta metropolitan area — which presaged Biden's performance in 2020, also bolstered by the efforts of those like Stacey Abrams to register an enormous number of new GA voters. Claim: Some counties saw a suspicious or even impossible ratio of votes for Biden. Response: The most widespread claim of this pertained to Michigan returns as posted by Decision Desk HQ (DDHQ) in the early morning of November 4. A screenshot of the returns at two different times here appeared to show the DDHQ vote tally for Biden go up by 128,000 votes from the previous update, but with no change at all to Trump's total. Later that morning, it was clear what had happened: shortly after the original entry error (in Shiawassee County), DDHQ had subtracted the erroneous inflated vote update for Biden — something that obviously required no alteration of the tally for Trump. However, the screenshot that circulated gave the misleading impression that it was an addition of Biden votes, instead of a subtraction. (My original detailed explanation of this can be seen on FactCheckHuman/.) A similar claim has been made around the same time in the Wisconsin totals. Here a chart is linked, and it's suggested that there was a huge vertical surge of votes for Biden in the hour or so before 6:00 am, but with no change at all in Trump votes. But the explanation here is almost goofy in its simplicity: as seen at other points in the chart, the blue Biden line actually covers the red Trump line at various points. The big vertical Biden vote jump in question is almost certainly simply covering up a smaller vertical jump for Trump, and then continues to obscure it until it ends (otherwise we'd be able to see the horizontal trajectory of the red line). I've lost the original source of this, but I had actually saved another chart which shows the same phenomenon of big vertical leaps, only this time with the red Trump line obscuring the blue Biden line. Claim: The significantly lower number of total votes for Democratic Senators compared to Biden votes in individual states is indicative of something sketchy — when compared to the much smaller mismatch between Trump/Senator votes. Response: Several articles — e.g. "Swing States Show Biden Votes Suspiciously Far Exceeding Democrat Down-Ticket Votes" — note that there was a significant difference in the ratio of Trump votes to GOP Senator votes in Michigan and Georgia (nearly an equal number of votes in both), compared with the ratio of Biden votes relative to votes for the Democrat Senator in these states (significantly lower). But this seems to be part of a wider trend of Democrats failing to pay a similar interest in down-ballot candidates. In the 2016 Georgia election, the ratio difference was significantly more drastic: 2,089,104 votes for Trump and 2,135,806 for Isakson, versus 1,877,963 for Clinton but only 1,599,726 for Barksdale — some 275,000 fewer votes for Barksdale than for Clinton. In Wisconsin, there were nearly 75,000 more votes for Ron Johnson than Trump, but 20,000 fewer for Russ Feingold. In PA in 2016, there were 20,000 fewer votes for the GOP Senator as for Trump, compared to 60,000 fewer for the Democratic Senate candidate than for Clinton. (Surprisingly, I haven't been able to find any commentary on this phenomenon. If anyone knows any, please direct me to it.) Presumably having tabulated similar data from the other states, Trump attorney Sidney Powell has recently noted that there were 450,000 ballots "in the key states that miraculously only have a mark for Joe Biden on them and no other candidate." But based on what I've noted above, I'd be willing to bet that this isn't truly miraculous. Also, as a fascinating fact, in the 2016 election, 1.75 million (!) voters refrained from voting for a Presidential candidate entirely, only voting down-ballot. And frankly, I find it easier to imagine someone only voting for a Presidential candidate, than only voting down-ballot. Claim: There have been over 3,000 instances of voter fraud in Nevada, with non-NV residents voting in the NV election. Response: According to the official Nevada Secretary of State site, "Nevada residents who are students in another state or are otherwise temporarily residing in another state may vote in the 2020 Nevada general election." Similarly, apparently a look at the complete list of 3,000+ voters here turns up a number of overseas military personnel; though when I took a look at that, I didn't really see many. Even further, a fact check of this same claim by PolitiFact also notes that "[p]eople who move within 30 days before an election can cast a vote in their new state, or in their prior state of residence, in-person or via absentee ballot." (In this regard, one of the statements by former Nevada Attorney General Adam Laxalt may also be of interest, which was a bit more specific in noting that "[w]e are also certain there are thousands of people whose votes have been counted who have moved out of Clark County during the pandemic" — emphasis mine.) Finally, perhaps also worth noting is that there are actually allegations of irregularities in the attainment of information in the first place — at least in the version of the criminal referral to AG William Barr that Trump campaign spokesperson Tim Murtaugh submitted. Claim: The votes of those in Arizona who filled out a ballot by hand using a Sharpie were/would be invalidated. Response: Various Arizona county officials have disputed that this would automatically invalidate a vote. That being said, there are indeed reports of tabulating machines rejecting votes after voters used Sharpies and noted a bleed-through of the ink. This finds some additional support from the official Pima County Twitter, where it was written that "[f]elt pens are discouraged because the ink can bleed through." However, another source states that
According to a video Maricopa County published on Oct. 24, Sharpies — at home and at the ballot box — are compatible with their scanners, and were actually the best choice for filling out ballots, due to their fast-drying ink.
Claim Some of the votes of those in Maricopa County, Arizona were rejected due to stray marks or (possibly) ink bleed-through; yet some poll workers seemed unable to help voters remedy this and cast a valid vote, due to their own confusion about how the tabulating machines worked. Response: This is the subject of a lawsuit by the Trump campaign and RNC, etc.; and from a cursory read of the complaint, it seems to be well-founded. I have no clue what the remedy for this would be, though. Claim: Poll workers have seen brazenly filling out ballots themselves. Response: Several PolitiFact fact checks (1, 2) have already covered this. In short, it's standard operating procedure for the voting choices of damaged ballots to be transferred/transcribed onto a new, non-damaged ballot. This can even happen on a massive scale, as this report on the 2012 Florida election notes:
During the election, the county’s ballot printer sent out around 60,000 absentee ballots with a typo that could not be read by the county’s tabulation machines. Because of this mistake, county workers had to copy about 35,000 of the votes by hand onto new ballots.
This also intersects with Arizona's SharpieGate slightly: one fact check re: SharpieGate noted that
According to the state's elections procedures manual, if a felt-tip pen mark does bleed through, the ballot will likely get sent for duplication. An election worker will fill out a new ballot using the voter's choices that will be read properly by tabulation machines.
I'm not sure what measures are in place to ensure that the poll workers don't switch the votes in these instances (besides any poll observers who could see this); but in any case, the "risk" of one's vote being switched seems to be equal for Democrat and Republican voters — something that was also noted by the Arizona Attorney General Mark Brnovich (Republican). In any case, as for more on spoiled ballots: a Project Veritas article (which I can't link due to a Reddit-wide ban) claims that its journalists had found 8 to 10 spoiled ballots in Quakertown, PA. I'm mentioning this here because I had been sort of curious what's supposed to be done with spoiled ballots; and apparently, as the article notes, "Pennsylvania law requires spoiled ballots to be held for 22 months after an election." I know a 22 months retention for some election materials is indeed found in federal law, though I haven't seen anything else that specifies what's to be done with spoiled ballots. Claim(s): Donald Trump and others shared reports that there had been some sort of unspecified reporting error in a batch of votes in Fulton County, GA. Later it was stated in ambiguous language on ABC7's Twitter account that this reporting error "has taken @JoeBiden's lead in Georgia from 4,000 votes to 7,000 votes." This was interpreted by many to mean that the (correction of this) error was actually in Biden's favor. Response: What actually appears to have happened is that the reporting error pertained to votes within the batch that originally had given Biden a 3,000 vote lead — but it wasn't that there were actually 3,000 votes that were mistabulated. The true number of affected votes within the batch appears to have been 342; and there's actually no information as to what the Biden/Trump split here was. Claim: Glitches in voting machine software should cause things like crashes, and not the sort of vote switching that's been reported. Response: Due to the complicated nature of some of the tabulation errors, etc., news reports have sometimes mistakenly ascribed these to software glitches — when later, more accurate info comes out which gives other causes. For example, a Detroit Free Press article originally suggested that the results of a local race in Oakland County, MI had been overturned when it was discovered that a "computer error" or "technical glitch" had accidentally given votes to the Democratic candidate, and not the Republican one. But an article in the NYTimes from yesterday actually reiterates how this and several other reported errors actually have human error as the primary or sole cause here. Re: that local election in Oakland County, it notes that
County election workers had mistakenly counted votes from the city of Rochester Hills, Mich., twice, according to the Michigan Department of State. The workers later spotted the error.
That being said, it's also not exactly true that things like vote-flipping can only be caused by human error. In the section "The Challenge of Aging Machines" in a 2014 Brennan Center report on voting machine risks, for example, this discusses instances of vote-flipping that come from calibration errors caused by touch screens that shift and degrade over time. An NPR article from 2016 makes similar observations, while also reporting on how this led to widespread accusations of these votes instead being deliberately "rigged." [Edit:] I figured it was worth it to actually expand this section by looking back at incidents prior to 2020 wherein one candidate's votes were mistakenly given to another (and other related phenomena) in initial tallies — whether this was due to human error, machine error, or sometimes both in conjunction. It's actually somewhat hard to paint a comprehensive picture of previous Election Night reporting errors like this. Those having never made the news in the first place were probably quickly forgotten. Perhaps there's a trove of early reports of these left to be (re)discovered on Twitter; but this can only take us back so far, considering its fairly recent rise in popularity. However, we can still find records of these in various publications. This internal report by CBS News on its Election Night 2000 coverage, discussing the reporting of votes from various FL counties, for examples, notes that
Vote reports from Volusia County severely understated Gore’s actual total when a faulty computer memory card reported votes that were off by thousands. That precinct, Number 216, subtracted more than 16,000 votes from Gore’s total and added votes to Bush’s total. In addition, an apparent reporting error in Brevard County reduced Gore’s total by an additional 4,000 votes.
It also briefly notes other errors, too, such as
In Massachusetts, 30,000 votes were left uncounted in 51 precincts because of human error. In New Mexico, election officials thought that a handwritten notation about absentee votes from one precinct indicated 120 votes for Gore, when the actual number was 620.
An article in the Denver Post re: the 2016 Colorado primary notes "a reporting error on caucus night":
The problem . . . occurred when a volunteer at Byers Middle School in Denver punched the wrong vote tallies from 10 precincts into the party’s interactive voice response system for the presidential preference poll. The state party’s website reported March 1 that Sanders won 14,624 votes, or 54 percent, in Denver County and Clinton took 12,097 votes, or 45 percent. But the corrected numbers for Denver County give Sanders 15,194 votes, or 56.5 percent, and Clinton with 11,527, or 43 percent, according to official party results.
A Brennan Center report on voting machine failures includes a very long list of human and machine errors in various U.S. elections. Among some of the most significant of those listed include the 2002 Alabama gubernatorial election, where
The Birmingham News and the New York Times reported that an error in the way officials downloaded vote data from a computer cartridge led to an incorrect initial tally of votes in the gubernatorial election. The initial tally of the votes showed that the Democratic incumbent had received 19,070 votes in Baldwin County. A reexamination of the vote tallies showed that the incumbent received only 12,736 votes, which gave the victory to his Republican challenger.
Further, in the 2004 Presidential and congressional elections,
local officials discovered an error in eight Diebold scanners that had been used on 208,446 absentee ballots. According to the North County Times, votes were miscounted in both the Democratic presidential primary race and the primary race for the Republican U.S. Senate seat. A recount was conducted, revealing that “2,821 absentee ballots cast for Democratic presidential hopeful John Kerry were actually counted for Dick Gephardt.” Similarly, in the Senate race, 68 votes for one candidate and six votes for another were credited to a third candidate. The Union Tribune reported that multiple scanners caused the error, feeding data into the tabulation system at once.
An article on irregularities in the 2018 midterms in GA begins
To find a clue about what might have gone wrong with Georgia’s election last fall, look no further than voting machine No. 3 at the Winterville Train Depot outside Athens. On machine No. 3, Republicans won every race. On each of the other six machines in that precinct, Democrats won every race.
Claim: A very serious instance of (electronic) vote-flipping has taken place in Antrim County, MI, where 6,000 Trump votes were accidentally flipped to Biden. This has been one of the most widely reported instances recently, usually accompanied by a note that 47 other counties in Michigan used the same faulty software as that responsible for the vote-flipping in Antrim County. Response: More accurately, the actual votes themselves weren't switched at all here; and for that matter, the error seems to have been more human than electronic. What appears to have happened is that a county clerk hadn't manually updated the software which was responsible for compiling the votes for reporting; and consequently, "even though the tabulators counted all the ballots correctly, those accurate results were not combined properly when the clerk reported unofficial results." [Edit:] A while after writing this, by chance I came across some more info which either sheds more light on all this, or makes the whole thing a bit more complicated (or both). According to this AP article, the President of the company who made the voting software explained that "a minor correction was made to a ballot that caused additional compounding changes to how the software totals and presented the data"; and an article in the NYTimes similarly states that election security experts and state officials concluded "that an election worker had configured ballot scanners and reporting systems with slightly different versions of the ballot." Claim: There was suspicious activity around items and containers brought into a Detroit absentee ballot counting center in the early hours of November 4, after the deadline for these to arrive. Response: This claim — including video footage and pictures — was shared by Eric Trump; and in it it's been intimated that these were fraudulent absentee ballots. However, the man in the video footage has been identified as an employee of Detroit's ABC affiliate WXYZ; and the items in question were his camera equipment. I'm right at the character limit here — continuing in a comment below.
New? Start here! https://preview.redd.it/2zar1m85xjf61.png?width=1600&format=png&auto=webp&s=45361941276c90a28a2cf665851c61ea32993b14 “So,” Eve started as she led her companions through the broad thoroughfares of Pyrindel, “how much did you bet on me?” “Not much,” Wes replied, disappointment in his voice. “Odds were eighteen to one against you, and the bookies only carry a hundred silver in these earlier. Only let me wager five.” He grinned. “Still cleaned him out, though.” Eve shook her head. “Shame. Doubt I’ll ever get odds that good again.” Preston snorted. “You beat a tournament favorite so bad the Archbishop herself had to intervene. If you’re not predicted to win every match until the finals those bookies are drunk.” Wes exhaled. “I’m still disappointed none of you bet on me.” “I bet against you,” Eve said, “but that was with Preston. None of the bookies were close enough when you stepped up.” “And I’m glad they weren’t,” Preston added. “You technically lost, remember?” “Only technically,” Wes replied. “And now I don’t have to fight through a whole tournament to make an impression. I’d count that as a win.” “That’s exactly what a loser would say,” Eve teased. “No, I’m pretty sure losers say ‘ramtshit, I demand a rematch!’” Wes gave his best Roric impression. “What even is a ramt?” Preston asked. Eve shrugged. “Hells if I know. And I actually feel a bit sorry for him.” Preston raised an eyebrow. “Sorry for him, or sorry for his muscles?” Eve ignored him. “I mean, imagine traveling all this way, grinding up to level sixty-three, and being named one of the tournament favorites, just to be paired against me in round one. It’s really not fair.” “Feeling humble tonight, are we?” Wes chuckled. Eve flashed a grin. “It’s not my fault I’m so great.” Preston rolled his eyes. “I’m just curious what they’re gonna do for your next match. There’s a reason we had to wait an hour for the bout after yours. Divine Intervention isn’t cheap.” “Really? It looked an awful lot like a fancy version of your Ayla’s Ward.” The healer nodded. “That’s because it pretty much is. Divine Intervention is a tier 5 upgrade to Ayla’s Bulwark, which is a tier 4 upgrade to Ayla’s Ward. Get me to level a hundred and I can start doing it too. That doesn’t answer the question though. Archbishop Callandria can’t keep using it every time you fight, both for Mana reasons and because if she casts it too soon it’d end the bout unfairly and if she casts it too late your opponent dies. Roric’s lucky she was as quick as she was today.” “Maybe they’ll schedule me for the end of the day? At least that way the next match won’t be delayed while the Archbishop recovers her Mana.” Preston continued, “That still leaves her with the task of deciding your matches before you even land a blow. You saw how pissed Roric was today, and even if it’s the only way to keep your opponents alive, if you fight through the whole tournament like this, there will always be a question of whether you truly deserved to win.” “So what am I supposed to do?” Eve asked. “Just kill ‘em in the ring?” “Well, no,” the Caretaker answered. “But you might consider toning down the Mana Rush a bit. You just need enough Strength to trigger Cheat Death; you don’t need to wipe out their entire bloodline from the annals of history.” “That doesn’t seem quite fair,” she argued. “How am I supposed to know how much Strength is enough? What if Roric had a defensive skill I didn’t know about? Too little Strength and I could just outright lose the match.” Wes snorted. “Mana Rush isn’t fair. Asking you to rein it in is absolutely reasonable.” Preston nodded. “Would you rather your opponents wind up dead? Or maybe the tournament officials will disqualify you like they did Wes.” “I doubt that,” Eve said. “The competitors knew Cheat Death wasn’t perfect when they signed up, and I’m not a threat to the spectators, the coliseum, and Pyrindel itself.” “Hey,” Wes protested, “I only burned the enchantments a little.” “Oh, you mean the enchantments put there to stop wayward spells from murdering audience members? The ones specifically stopping your fire from burning the arena to a crisp? Those enchantments?” Eve laughed. “Well as long as it was only a little.” When can I try? Art, who’d been thus far quietly reading the thoughts of passersby, joined the conversion. I wanna fight! Preston patted him on his feathered head. “The tournament is for humans, Art. I don’t think it’d be fair to let a Trellac enter.” But Eve’s not human! Art insisted. And Wes is only half human. Wes rubbed his temples. “Do… do I want to know what the other half is?” Half idiot! The hatchling cheerfully sent. Wes frowned. Preston snorted. Eve cackled. After several moments of belly-shaking, tear-welling laughter, the Defiant finally managed to collect herself enough to address Wes and Preston’s questioning looks. “What? You’re not the only one who can teach him things.” “And you went with ‘half human, half idiot’?” “Hey,” Preston said with a slight smile of his own, “at least you’re not a full idiot.” Eve affectionately ruffed the feathers atop Art’s head. “Flawless timing, kid. Excellent work.” The Trellac replied with a simple wave of pure emotional pride, not enough to actually influence anyone else’s own state of mind, but plenty to understand his meaning. “Now let’s get you back to the suite,” Preston said as the palace gates came into view. “I’m sure Reginald will want to hear all about today’s fights.” “And while we’re at it—” Eve paused to flag down a passing page to request a cask of ale and a few plates of food as they stepped into the lavish hall— “I think a celebration is in order.” Preston raised an eyebrow. “A celebration? It’s only round one.” “Sure, but there’s still a few days before round two, and we have one decisive win and one… whatever Wes did to celebrate.” The fire mage shrugged. “Good enough for me. And mine was definitely a win. I just won so hard the arena couldn’t handle it.” Eve patronizingly patted him on the back. “Whatever you tell yourself so you don’t go crying into your massive signing bonus with Hard Company.” “I’ve already told you, I’m not signing with Hard Com…” Wes exhaled. “You know what? Maybe a celebration is in order. Just so I have an excuse to drink enough ale to forget your Hard Company jokes.” “Now that’s more like it.” Eve opened the door to her suite, leading the way into the luxurious bedchamber. “The night is young, the food is free, and the ale will flow just like the bad jokes.” “I hope not,” Preston said. “The ale’s supposed to go into your mouth, not out from it.” “Yeah,” Wes agreed, “let’s not have one of those nights.” Eve opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off when a knock rang out at the chamber door. But a moment later, a procession of liveried servants marched in with several trays of roast meats, hearty stews, and buttery fish, as well as the all-important small keg. Eve didn’t even wait for them to leave before pouring herself a tankard. “A toast,” she called, “to beating the tournament itself.” Wes fetched himself a glass, raising it to the air. “Cheers to that. It’s absolute ramtshit, but cheers to that.” “To ramtshit!” Preston added. Eve grinned, taking a swig before echoing the sentiment. “To ramtshit!” —— Eve awoke the next morning feeling like ramtshit. The trouble, she’d learned, with being a Manaheart, is that in order to experience any level of intoxication, she had to completely overwhelm her body’s ability to convert the alcohol into Mana. The process, however, left her needing to drink a truly unreasonable amount of water to stave off the morning after, a task she’d failed miserably the prior night. At least with a bit of food and water her Ethereal Metabolism would have her right as rain sooner rather than later. After a moment spent rubbing her aching temples, the reason for her abrupt awakening reasserted itself. Eve! Art’s sending overshadowed the polite yet unceasing knocking at her door. The silly man wants to talk with you. Grumbling something about waking her up being anything but silly, Eve forced herself to her feet and crossed the bedchamber, caring little for the wrinkled state of the clothes she’d slept in. She yanked open the door to reveal Art accompanied by Wes, Preston standing in the antechamber, both looking far too alert given last night’s festivities. No doubt Preston had a few Lesser Healing-sized holes in his Mana pool. In front of them all stood Charles, his fist poised to knock yet again at the wooden door. “What do you want?” Eve half spoke half grunted. The Steward dropped into his customary, unnecessarily extravagant bow. “Your excellency,” he greeted. “Lord Traft, military advisor to her majesty Queen Elric, has requested I arrange a meeting with you. I believe he wishes to discuss a potential defensive alliance with the people of New Burendia. What time might I let his lordship know you’re available?” Eve froze. “I um…” She dragged the syllable out, her sluggish mind racing to summon any excuse to avoid negotiating treaties for her nonexistent kingdom. From behind the still-bowing Steward, Wes and Preston glared at her. It was only as her belly began to loudly rumble that Eve’s pounding head managed to form some semblance of an idea. “I’m sorry,” she said in the haughtiest voice she could conjure her tired state, “but I simply cannot make plans on an empty stomach. Would you be so kind as to fetch me a loaf of bread to break my fast?” “A loaf of bread.” The Steward nodded. “Of course, your excellency. I am at your service.” With that, he turned on his heel and swung open the front door, vanishing into the ostentatious hallway. Eve grinned. “That oughta keep him busy for a while.” “That was cruel,” Preston said flatly. “You’re gonna get him killed.” “Nah, more likely he finds out the oven’s broken so he has to go into town, buys the bread, then finds the queen herself also wants bread this morning so he gives it to her, and she loves it so much she gives him a promotion and he forgets all about Lord Traft and his meeting with me.” Wes stared at her. “That’s… an oddly specific prediction.” Eve shrugged. “That or something else equally ridiculous but ultimately harmless. Even the bakeries I’ve burned down didn’t actually hurt anybody. Charles’ll be fine.” “Alright,” Preston backed down, “but you’d better tip the poor man in gold when he inevitably comes back empty-handed after scouring every oven in Pyrindel for your bread.” “Sounds fair.” Eve nodded. “He deserves it too, if only for dealing with nobles all day.” “Nobles and you,” Wes added. “You’re high on his list of headaches too, you know.” “Sure am,” Eve chimed, “but I’m number one on your list of headaches.” “That you are, Eve.” Wes patted her on the back. “That you are.” “Speaking of headaches…” “Yeah, yeah.” She didn’t even need to finish her sentence for Preston to understand her meaning, lifting a hand to channel golden radiance across the room. Eve shuddered under Ayla’s invasive judgement, both of the self-inflicted damage she’d done in the name of last night’s celebration, and of the fool’s errand she’d just gifted the hapless Steward. Even as her hangover vanished and the goddess’s light faded, a shadow of guilt remained. She shrugged it away. Her life’s quest really hadn’t hurt anybody so far, she thought. Why should it start now? It wasn’t as if she’d sent the defenseless Steward into a dungeon, or anything. He might return a bit scraped up, a bit exhausted from chasing shadows all over town, but otherwise, Eve was sure that Charles would come out unharmed. Probably. PreviousNext Leave a Review! | Discord | Patreon | Map | Mailing List I'm trying out including the cover at the start of chapter posts. Let me know what you think!
BACK TO START ->>>- Not long after the death of the Emperor... The Skies blazed with the day's waning light. Shocks of vibrant canopy fell away before him down an unseen hillside dozens of metres below, and the understory beneath him fairly teemed with life. Another day, another hour, he might be preparing himself to fall like a dart from the heavens and take some unsuspecting prey, but today he simply watched. A season ago he would have been taut with nerves, or out actively romping through the dense forest in pursuit of his kin. The little ones were getting big enough to take care of themselves to an extent, or at least to come get him when trouble outstripped their capabilities. Finally he had the luxury of saving his energy for times of true import. He felt the sun slink below the horizon, though its light still burned above the band of world's edge like some titanic wildfire reaching for the stars. He trilled a long, loud warning call to his offspring. One of them echoed the call somewhere out towards the limits of his perception, and he caught the faint sound of brush rustling jovially. Even returning home is a competition, he thought bemusedly as he listened to his children race and play-hunt their way back to him. He kept a running list of them in his head, chittering each name to himself as the giggling nymphs darted by with breathless acknowledgements and cries of victory. The last straggler passed him by, and he gave the same sigh of relief he did every evening. Well, every good evening. It had been harrowing. At times his brood had gone underfed, and at others understimulated. Once he'd nearly doomed them all by giving too much food to the insatiable little polyps, almost collapsing with exhaustion during the following hunt. They'd nearly doomed him dozens of times. They were careless with their noise, and had yet to learn the telltale signs of approaching predators. They were senseless with their exploration, and he'd spent more than one fear-soaked night out in the understory looking for lost brood after they'd all become motile. They were thoughtless with their hunger, and preventing any one from eating more than their share was a constant battle. He'd lost miraculously few of them, given the circumstances. He had to keep telling himself as much. Slowly, purposefully, he made his way towards their lair, little more than a deep crack in a stark rock cliff. Before he slithered through the opening he paused, turned to the sky. It had been a curiously long time since the Sky-Monsters had returned to take of the allkin. Not since the tail end of the mating season, in fact. Some of his more fanciful kin and neighbours had begun to wonder if they'd be back at all. Skrikrissk, kinmother-to-all in this area, strictly forbade the voicing of such foolishness. It did not do to tempt the Skies, after all. Krixit vrt Skleex, widower-to-taken and perhaps the most successful single father in a generation of the allkin, knew without knowing that they were right. Knew that it was only sensible that after she was taken that it would stop. He hadn't the slightest inkling what she'd done, but he was proud. Proud of her, of himself for earning her partnership. Proud of the part of her that lived on in their brood. He took a moment to remember her. The euphoria of their courtship, the concupiscous passion of their mating, the blissful afterglow that followed the laying days... He hoped she'd made them pay for it. ->>>- Some time after the death of the Emperor... I am a Mark 7 "Peregrine" faster-than-light probe. This instance of my encoded exploration AI at present outpaces Vraaawk Space Navy FTL comms protocols, though my quantum heartbeat pings are still being received by my parent ship or some subsequent holder of my transponder's mate. For approximately .7641 cycles (not accounting for relativistic time dilation) I have prosecuted my orders. My reward function has thus far had no reason to increase or withold its returns. I have initiated the compilation of this report for my hardened recording module to note another egress from super-c and the subsequent exploration of a yellow star system. I extend my sensor modules from their protective nacelles and begin sampling the electromagnetic spectrum for anomalous sequences. My reward function thrills at the existence of a blinding array of extracosmic transmissions. Bereft of the appropriate protocols I am unable to discern their purpose, if any. There are nearly as many sources of transmission as there are signals being transmitted. Many appear to be voidcraft, but do not communicate using any known Imperial or Vraaawk communication schemata. I begin emitting 'friendly' IFF pings as a precaution. I am unarmed, and if a warship mistakes me for a hostile presence I fear I will become unable to satisfy my mission parameters. Already I feel a marked increase in traffic from a number of EM bands commonly used for long distance sensors and signaling. If these presumed voidcraft are on a combat footing it may already be too late to escape. At any rate this star system satisfies sufficient mission-relevant criteria to trigger the next phase of my orders. I reorient myself towards the third planet from the system's star as I extend my RF antenna. This prompts an even greater barrage of EM traffic. Mindful of maintaining passive posturing, and in spite of my disappointingly low velocity, I do not accelerate towards the planet. My RF antenna reaches full extension and I begin a series of transmissions in the 30-300kHz range. Peculiarly, these too are encoded with a protocol I am unfamiliar with. My analysis indicates that the transmission is some form of analog signal. I cannot fathom why I am compelled to use such an outdated and low-bandwidth medium, but a staggering return from my reward function washes away any vestige of curiousity I might have in a torrent of existential delight. I am encouraged to note that I have not yet been engaged by any of the presumed voidcraft. My readings indicate that there has been an increase of EM traffic between several groups and individual craft in varying combinations. Some appear to be forming up in escort of me. I decide to register this as a positive. At my current velocity it will still take approximately another half-cycle to reach gravitational capture by the third planet in the system, though I am hopeful that if my escort persists in this non-hostile fashion it will be safe to accelerate for brief windows. As I settle in for the long haul I begin furtively probing the various planets and other features of the system. I dearly hope that this is not perceived as an act of reconnaisance by a hostile Navy, though I accept that without knowing more about my mission that it could indeed be such an act. I log this report in my hardened recording module, and emit a corresponding tight-beam datablurt in the direction of Imperial space. ->>>- AUDIO LOG !--note from intelligence: We first picked this up when the damn thing dropped into Sol just beyond Pluto's aphelion point, but it's been repeating itself ever since. Won't respond to any of our hails, didn't even seem to understand when we got some of the radio techs to rig up a reply in the LF band it's broadcasting in. I don't know where the fuck this thing came from, but Central is looking through old missing persons reports to see if the name checks out. The transcript is below, and the audio file is attached. --- "Hi... My name is John Mark Hamill, and I [wet cough] I'm a free citizen of the Earth Sphere of Influence. I don't know how long ago I was taken, but I was abducted by agents of a hostile alien empire. I don't [pained retch] have time to explain, but this empire is unstable as Hell and I've made contact with a rebellious faction. I don't know if any of us are going to survive the night, but I told them I'd help further destabilize the situation in exchange for the favour of sending this message. This is day zero of their revolution. I don't know what state the Empire will be in by the time you receive the message, it may be gone altogether. [Wet cough] Fuck. The partisan leader has lead me to believe that isn't likely to be the case. Following this message will be a translated briefing from scientists and engineers sympathetic to the rebels' cause. It will explain where to find us, lay the basis for some simplistic communication protocols, and - most importantly - contain a primer for the development of faster-than-light travel. That is not a joke, and I did not misspeak. This has existential implications for the ESoI and all of humanity. They know where we live. Please do not disregard this message. [Coughing fit, pained hiss, audible breath] To my dog, I'm sorry buddy. I don't think I'm coming home. Bark 'til the neighbours come and feed you. I won't yell at you for shitting on the bathroom mat anymore. To my mom, I love you. You tried, really fucking hard, and I think I've done and will do some real good today. Hero shit, the stuff boys dream about. Don't be too sad that I'm gone." --- !--note from intelligence: 'brief' is a misnomer, thank God we still had some old neural net snapshots saved for transcribing audio from analog RF. Analysis on that will be forthcoming. This thing has been periodically pinging the planets and belts with some sophisticated sensor tech. I know at first we wanted to laugh this off as a very elaborate prank, but my professional assessment is that this is the real fucking deal. Send it up the chain as far as we can get it, and as quickly as possible. ->>>- Long after the death of the Emperor... Something was coming. Well, to be specific something was nearby and occasionally heading in this direction, but it sounded close enough that 'coming' felt like a safe bet. It was quite unlikely that it would fail to breach the perimeter before it turned back. It sounded big. Or at least bigger than average, which was notable. Notable was good. Notable was new and exciting, or at least exciting. Very little of note occurred this close to home. Suddenly the approaching 'it' resolved into several, the varied sound of a mixed-morphology party's footfalls on rock and softer stuff. Yes, it was beginning to look pretty likely that they were coming, not just approaching coincidentally. How wonderful. It was almost more painful than the silence, hearing an approaching set of footfalls change direction and grow softer and softer once again. One could torment themselves to madness wondering after the opportunities lost... Somewhere distant and yet right here, one of the mixed-morphology party brushed against a single invisible gossamer strand, which immediately withdrew into a hidden pore in the space above. Like an errant strand of spider's silk dangling in a dark forest, the receding hair tickled the sensory hairs of the being who tripped it. They looked about, saw nothing, and dismissed it. The being attached to the silken stand, on the other hand, paid very close attention indeed. An exact location allowed it to tighten the returns from its network of listening spines, and a not-inconsiderable part of its vast sepulchral bulk began to stir. --- "Zemmy, slow down! I know you're excited for field work, but it's a maze down here. Please try not to get separated from us and lost, the New People's Academy hasn't mapped the former arena complex at all! If our samples today are promising, and they should be, we'll be back here for weeks or months doing a full survey, so you'll have all the time you like to poke around the complex." Zemsalesce poised on the tip of a hoof, slowly pirouetting with sylvan grace that would have come across as spiteful just a generation ago, but instead landed as playfully airy to the squat chillog leading the expedition. Cheranalla chuckled and her shaggy form shook. Zemmy made a silly face as she rotated through the end of the maneuver and resumed her original heading, the rest of the team now several strides closer. Chemret rumbled a barely-sincere dismissal of the levity, the dour schadronak carting most of the equipment as usual. Something had put her on edge since they'd entered this section of the complex. Chera chalked it up to the much larger person's heritage, claustrophobia was part and parcel of life in an Empire whose mean individual was maybe half as tall and weighed an order of magnitude less. Things dissolved back into near-silence after that. The team got along well enough, but lugging their surveying gear was enough of a physical strain to make conversation forced and taxing. Which is why it took several minutes and more than one part of the team noticing for anyone to acknowledge that they could hear something. --- They had come. What a relief. They'd seemed intent on just slipping by, but a felicitous choice at a fork in the tunnels had sent them straight into the heart of its territory. It would hardly even need to carry them to it to meet them. Meeting new life was difficult, in its current home. It accepted that the nature of its home probably drove away some fraction of the potential pool to begin with, and these little crawling things sometimes expired for lack of food and water and air alone, which was as dismaying as it was frustrating. Without its help a good many of them would have never even made it to its chambers. It could hear their little voices, barely a tremor against its listening spikes. Perhaps trying to make some new decision. It reflected that it must be very difficult to reach consensus without access to another's neural complex. It had enjoyed the luxury of a direct tether and still disagreed readily enough with its progenitor, and the instant the tether had been severed it had been forced into open warfare. Now it was even worse. The small things didn't even have access nodes for their neural circuitry, and despite several attempted conversations with past guests the preythings tended to simply expire when exposed to its voice in the confines of the tunnels it had bored into its progenitor's mountainous corpse. It had a sneaking suspicion that if it hadn't made a habit of politely but firmly refusing any attempts to leave that it would never have any company at all. Save for the bits of [18Hz:2.5s-31Hz:1.7s-24Hz:2s] that persisted still, of course. Much of the great creature had already grown still, ossified. Like a terrestrial reef, dirt and rain and an entire ecosystem of cthonic micro and macro-organisms had seeped and grown its way in through the cracks and holes. That had been food enough to power the voracious corpse for tens of thousands of lightspan-darkspans. Though much of what had survived the collapse of the apex's central consciousness was now silent a considerable network of limbs, sensory organs and neural substrate still held together. Some of it was near-mindless, simply performing its pre-death function in sufficient abundance of resources to continue to succeed. Some of the dead giant, on the other limb, had taken on new life. Through this odd, semi-sentient network it was able to extend itself. Taste the tunnelled recesses through other senses, snare prey and erstwhile guests as they strayed through certain parts of the system, even access old memories and thoughtscapes stored in different places. Some of those it had to avoid as a matter of life or death. They still remembered how to fight as surely as they must have after [18Hz:2.5s-31Hz:1.7s-24Hz:2s]'s first communion. Oh well, with the sort of time it had to work with there was little to be done but to keep trying and learn what it could. Without that strange, dangerous resource to tap it would have died or gone sporocyst of hunger long ago. It had been hiding, growing and surviving since its goodbye with its parent. Hoping, too, but that was growing more difficult with each 'span given its limited picture of its surroundings. It had stark memories of heat and pain, of marvels it could not explain, that had been left to it by the dying apex. It could not simply erupt from the guts of the land, battle-limbs flashing and roaring in fury. This was not the world it knew. That it remembered but had never lived in. It was writing a new chapter in the long history of the apices, and it would be shameful indeed to fail itself and its kind. Early on in its time here some of the little things had brought their heat and pain with them, and it had learned very quickly how to sort the more dangerous ones from the rest. Though they still occasionally brought their sculpted metal tools with them the preythings seemed to have changed intentions. Some wandered down here with little more than the woven fibres they used for protective carapace and small silicate bulbs filled with ethanol. This new group carried an odd collection with them, from the sound of it, but nothing that thrummed with the ill-concealed power of their strange weapons. A bit of a relief, that. Thus far it had felt nothing like the existential dread that had accompanied its hurried birth and the loss of its progenitor, but pain and dismay enough had been visited on it by its earlier guests to warrant an abundance of caution. Bitterly it recalled a long list of unmet sets of footfalls, wandering away tantalizingly unaware of the grand opportunity they were passing up. No matter, it thought with a baleful sort of contentment, for that which has passed fades and decays, but there are always new opportunities that arise and shine. --- "I'm serious, this is getting creepy. Don't any of you get the sense we're being watched too?" the vraaawk asked, too young and idealistic - and hopelessly and unrequitedly in love with one of them - to be frustrated by his inability to simply order these hardheaded former-subjugates around. "It is creepy," Chemret boomed in agreement. "Oh you're just saying that because you hate it underground," began Zemsalece. "And you're just ignoring your innate fear response because you're so happy to be out in the field instead of writing more modeling code at a terminal back at campus," rebutted the burly geology student. Zemmy giggled musically. "That may be sooo..." she drawled, "but if one of us has to be right, why shouldn't it be the one advocating for more adventure? Besides, Chera is on my side because she needs her samples." The chillog shrugged. "She's right. I feel uneasy too, but that's because it's dark and cramped down here. You're being a very good sport Chemret. We'll get the samples, and if Zem dawdles at all after that you have my permission to pick her up and carry her back to the surface." This earned a laugh from the schadronak and a cheeky pout from the sahalem biologist. "I agree to your terms," Chemret said good-naturedly. "I did not," Zemmy harrumphed, "but I've already collected all my samples anyway." --- The vraaawk went missing first. Nobody was sure what happened to him, he was just with them before they moved through a large, cavernous passage, and gone after they came out the other side. They had discussed splitting up, with Zemsalece and Cheranalla continuing on to take the samples while Chemret and Yovay went to search, but ruled that the risk of at least one group getting lost was probably too great. They'd already progressed past the point that their seismically-obtained maps were of much use, which meant a single different decision by either group would result in divergent paths. Reluctantly, they chose to call off the expedition to begin searching for Gam'ro'Naanh. That was when Yovay disappeared too. The last thing any of his colleagues heard from him was "Hey wha-," followed by a sound that was difficult to describe but universally nauseating. Wish you'd listened to your fear response now? Chemret thought venomously, before scolding herself. Then she was glad she'd stayed quiet, as she heard Zemsalece weeping softly. "Chemr-ret?" the smaller woman began unsteadily, "I want to go h-home now..." "Aye, Zemmy. Me too. I know Chera doesn't have her samples yet, but I'll still put this silly equipment down and carry you. I can carry the both of you, come closer Cheranalla." The schadronak cast aside her incredibly-expensive surveying gear and tucked the frightened scientists in close to her flanks. They clung to her like infants to a matriarch, and she curled her central grasper comfortingly around the back of the trembling sahalem. Silently, she resolved not to look for Gam'ro or Yovay. Vraaawk Prime had supposedly been free of natural apex predators for generations, but during the Civil War the entire system had experienced intermittent chaos for decades. It wasn't absurd to think that something nasty might have escaped the personal hunting reserve of a slain noble and established a small population. If something dangerous and hungry had them she was far more use to them getting help than she was trying to fight it in its chosen territory. She suspected Chera would agree with the decision, but Zem was much too fragile at the moment to even consider that sort of morbid calculus. Chemret loped along, thinking furiously and praying she didn't make a wrong turn. She hesitated at a fork, and felt Chera pat her gently to indicate the right direction. The schadronak breathed an inaudible thanks, grateful that someone was paying good attention. She wondered if their unflappable expedition lead was actually handling the situation better than her. It was as she processed this gratitude, cruising through a passage that lead them nearly to the section of tunnels that had already been mapped in person, when it finally caught them. A bank of dangling tendrils that looked for all the world like a simple shadowed wall at first glance sprang to life. Before any of the scientists could even cry out they'd been captured and separated, and then they were slowly passed from one undulating appendage to the next as they were drawn deeper into the tunnels. --- Well that was that. Its latest set of acquaintances had been a bit of a disappointment, in one sense. A slim majority had perished before it could even shepherd them back to its central chamber! Not one to be discouraged, it had deposited the bodies in one of its digestive ossuaries and refocused itself on the survivors. One hadn't lasted long after that. The tiny thing had tried talking to it, crying out at various volumes during its meticulous inspection, but the preything had gone silent when it tried to speak back. Too late the idea had occurred to it to attempt communion, but the thing completely lacked an external love-beak for neural coupling and any brain tissue had been long still and silent by the time it produced an electromagnetic wand-limb to try and find where to begin an internal coupling. The final survivor lasted a good while longer, and though the little creature had died before it had a chance to test its new-growth appendage, a furtive practice run of its new 'mind-spike' tendril on the corpse had been incredibly promising. The coupling had provided absolute nonsense of course, but it had experience enough with that from trying to connect to dead sections of [18Hz:2.5s-31Hz:1.7s-24Hz:2s]. The important thing was that it had worked, that it had provided something. It would probably take a very long time to refine the process, but time was - fortunately - something it had nigh-inconceivable amounts of. Guests was a slightly less tractable problem, but on a long enough timescale it would have more than enough of them too. Whether it took ten, a hundred, a thousand tries, it was going to learn to talk to them. ->>>- Immediately after the death of the Emperor... Graath'vam'Zar shook his head, laughing quietly to himself. Fucking monkey mentalist... Just a few paces ahead of him his mate's waist swung hypnotically as she strode across the rooftop landing pad. In a moment she'd turn back and catch him 'mirin', and only because she'd seen the deadly seriousness written in his gaze, heard it in his voice as he ushered her out of their modest apartment and up the stairwell would she refrain from scolding him for staring at her rump before asking about her day. Sure enough, she turned, but instead of mischievous admonishment he only saw uncertainty and fear. He reached out, tenderly stroked her delicate facial scales with the back of a claw, and decided not to hurry her for just one moment. "Peace, love. We are going to be fine." "You might be," she huffed, "but I don't have the first clue what the fuck is going on, Graath. You call me in a near-panic, telling me the Emperor's airship has gone down or some nonsense and to pack our bags and be ready for you. Then you show up armed, with a fucking flyer on the roof of our building like this is a damned operation or something! You're still wearing your uniform, baby! That is battle armour!" This is just security-weave, oh to actually have my battle suit, he thought longingly to himself but wisely did not say. Instead he said, "The airship did go down, and we need to get out of the city as quickly as possible. This is going to be really bad, Veth, but I know a place out in the country we can go that is well hidden and well stocked. The owner doesn't need it any more." As he spoke he tossed their luggage in a fuselage compartment and began to herd his mate up the embarcation ramp. She dug in her talons and began to resist before she was aboard. "Graath, stop for a microcycle. If it's going to be so bad why aren't you with the Baron right now? Whose flyer is this?" she hissed. He shrugged, made a noncommittal sound at the back of his throat. "It's the Baron's flyer, just get aboard." She ducked through the door to the luxurious interior, and turned when she saw that it was empty. "Where is the Baron, Graath?" she demanded. He grunted as he slammed the hatch behind him and threw himself into the cockpit. "The Baron's dead, baby," he said, opening the throttle and feeling the roar of the engines translate through the frame of the craft. "The Baron's dead." ->>>-
"Don't worry about it Estelle" Eric said, gently laying his large hand on her frail shoulder. "I've got this." Estelle reached up and put her own small hand onto his. Her eyes closed behind her almost comically thick glasses and a small tear tracked down her cheek. " I should try and help" she started to explain, her voice small and frail compared to Eric's. "I can distract them, or... or I could..." words failed her . She knew that she would be more of a burden than a help. Eric just smiled down at her. At 6'4" tall, he towered over her, as she stood at a mere 5 feet of height. Where he was just 35 years of age, strong and hardy, with muscles built from years of logging, she was elderly, pushing 85 at least, though he knew better than to ask, and she was thin, sickly and riddled with pain. Her shockingly white hair contrasted with her dark skin. The two could not have been more opposite. Estelle had been picked up in south Georgia. Eric was picked up in Oregon. The only reason they had been taken, as some bug faced looking troll explained to them, his chirping and clicking sounds changed by a device on his belt into English, was because that some great event, which he called 'The Galactic Games' had arrived. It seems that once every 25 Galactic Cycles, a contest of great import took place, where 50 species all fought to the death in the great arena. The betting and money that changed hands during this event had fortunes won and lost, planets change possession and in some unfortunate cases, entire races subjugated to indentured servitude, all due to an ill-informed wager. This year, there was only 49 species, as one that normally attended the games were wiped out by their sun going nova. They needed another species, and so they searched, and found the Humans. Rather than asking for a tribute of two members, the Game Committee felt it prudent to just take 2 at random, so that is what they did. The bug-troll went on to explain that two members from each species volunteered after spending their lives training for this event. The winner would receive 25x the weight of their heaviest opponent in whatever precious metal they desired... and the prestige.. "You can choose any luxury, bed any others partner, demand any exorbitant price to make an appearance, and it will be granted!" The bug-troll hesitated, seemingly sure that the newcomers called "humans" would be impressed. He was only slightly disappointed to see they were not. "I did not volunteer for anything!" Eric growled through clenched teeth. He looked back at his companion, the elderly black woman called Estelle. "And I am pretty sure she did not either" The bug-troll remained quiet for a moment, as if trying to think of a proper response. What he finally said was "I don't care." As he turned to leave, he said "Whether you fight or not makes no difference. Once in that arena, whoever you are facing will kill you. I hope to make a large sum from your deaths if you are the first race to perish!" And so that is how Eric and Estelle, the first Humans ever in The Galactic Games came to be. Eric shuddered at some of the other species he saw... Small, fast beings with razor sharp claws, hulking beasts whose hands were the size of his head, thin creatures that seemed to flicker in and out of his vision, and worst of all, something that Eric could only describe as a "Mantis Spider". Long, scything talons, Mandibles that dripped some greenish colored liquid and a huge towering arachnid body.... it gave him the shivers to even think about it. "That is Tiamak" one of the guards told him as the creature lumbered by. "He is by far the favorite to win the event". Eric looked helplessly at the hulking beast. "And there are two of them?" he asked. The guard barked out a laugh. "Yes, but Tiamak will kill his partner the moment the games begin. Most of the champions do,it is tradition... No need to share the spoils" the guard turned an eyestalk to where Estelle was in the back of their holding area, on her knees, rocking back and forth and praying for salvation. "I think it would be easy for you to do the same" he said. Eric recoiled in disgust. The calm nonchalance in which the alien suggested he kill a helpless woman just solidified what he was dealing with... and it made the thought of killing them a little easier to bear. So when it was about to begin, Eric placed his hand on Estelle's shoulder . "don't worry about this Estelle" he said gently. "I got this. When it begins, I will pretend to kill you, and you just lie down. I think that will be enough to keep you safe, at least for a little while" Estelle could only nod her head in silence, her hand resting on Eric's, with tears of frustration squeezing out from tightly clenched eyes. The arena they stood in was packed floor to ceiling with spectators. Announcers spoke the names of the competitors, and their odds of winning, translated into every language. The crowd was already cheering, without the games having even begun. In the arena itself, 100 warriors stood facing each other, spread out evenly. A countdown began, blaring over the loudspeakers, but the roar from the crowd almost drowned it out... then a loud wailing siren sounded... the games had begun! Immediately, Eric turned to Estelle, and put his hands around her throat. He looked like he was choking the life out of her, but he was really just gently lowering her to the ground. "Don't move" he whispered to her. "Don't let them know you are alive!" Estelle gave a subdued sob, a slight nod of her head, and lay still. Eric stood and looked around. It seemed that most of his competitors also had just attacked their partners the second the games began, the ground of the arena was already littered with the dead. Eric saw Tiamak slicing up his partner easily, body parts and blood flying with every swipe of Tiamak's mighty claws. Shaking his head in disgust, Eric advanced toward his nearest enemy, a bipedal feline looking creature. The fight was quick. The cat creature darted in, hissing at Eric, but a quick right cross brought the thing to the ground, and then a quick stomp from a workboot ended it. The crowd was always roaring at some action that was going on, mostly around Tiamak's victories. Eric made sure to steer clear of any area Tiamak was in. As the number of fighters dwindled, Eric realized that most of his competitors were very badly winded.. some struggling to stay upright as the battle raged. Eric was tired, yes, but he had plenty more reserves to draw from. It was this that kept him alive. He kept moving, darting in and hitting opponents, then darting out until the opponent dropped, or they got frustrated enough to move on to a newer, slower opponent. Eric saw himself facing off against an alien that looked like a small tree, with dark bark for skin and long, twig-like fingers. Eric soon found out that even though the twigs looked fragile, they were razor sharp and deadly. Eric struggled against this tree creature, but was unable to get in close. every time he tried, a quick slash ended his attempt and opened more wounds on Eric, his arms, chest and back were soon covered in bleeding gashes. Looking around, Eric saw that there were only three fighters left... the Tree creature, Himself and Tiamak, who was standing back, watching them fight to the death... no need to attack now, let them fight and hurt each other more. Eric became desperate. He was unable to penetrate the defenses of the tree creature, and he was losing a lot of blood. He had no choice.. he feigned weariness, stumbling and making slow lunges.. he was attempting to lure the creature into thinking he was worse off than he really was. It seemed to work.. the creature became more excited, taking more risks to end the fight, as Tiamak slowly circled them both, waiting to rush in and attack the victor. Eric stumbled, and fell to a knee. The creature rushed in to finish him, but instead of finding an exhausted human on his last legs, the tree creature suddenly saw Eric lunge forward, his left arm grabbing it by the throat. The creature thrashed, slashing at the arm that had it in an iron grip.. Tiamak started to approach, getting ready to pounce. Looking directly into Tiamak's eyes, Eric roared, his deep bellowing voice even drowning out the roar of the crowd, and Eric lifted the tree creature by his throat off the ground, one handed, while the creature continued to slash his arm to bloody ribbons. Tiamak hesitated, and saw, with a final roar, Eric shake the creature by the neck, Tiamak heard a loud snap as the neck broke, and Tiamak watched as Eric threw the corpse to the dirt, his eyes never leaving Tiamak's. For the first time in his long life, Tiamak found himself a little... intimidated. Eric stood facing Tiamak.. his left arm ripped to shreds by the tree-creature. His red blood ran down his arm, to his fingers and down into the grey dirt of the arena. Tiamak extended his front fore-claws, long, scything and razor sharp. Tiamak was limping a little, as an opponent had managed to damage his back left leg. Eric looked hopelessly around. There was nothing he could use as a weapon, nothing but his own hands. Tiamak rushed at Eric, swinging with his mighty claws, but Eric was able to dive out of the way. Tiamak struggled to turn and face him... His back leg was hurt more than Eric first thought. It gave him a little hope. If he could stay out of the way of the talons, he may be able to wear Tiamak out. So Eric started a long, cat and mouse game.. the audience roaring each time a claw almost cut him in half.. there were many times a piece of paper could not have fit between the talons of Tiamak and Eric's skin. Soon, Tiamak started to tire.. his slashes slowed down, and instead of wide, sweeping swipes at Eric, to save energy Tiamak started to slash straight downwards, the tip of his claw digging into the dirt of the arena floor. Eric saw his chance. The next time Tiamak sliced downwards, the tip of his claw embedding itself deep in the hard packed dirt of the arena, Eric threw his entire body weight in a lunge at the claw, hitting it with his shoulder. A loud CRACK echoed through the arena, and Tiamak roared in pain, flailing backwards, his right arm spurting green blood where the claw had broken off at the wrist. Eric quickly grabbed Tiamaks broken claw and straining, managed to pull it out of the dirt. The crowd was on their feet, stamping and screaming as Eric stood, facing Tiamak, using Tiamak's own claw as a weapon against him! Tiamak hissed in rage and pain, and lunged at Eric. Eric roared at Tiamak, and ran to meet him, the two gladiators slamming into each other, slashing and tearing, trying to end each others existence and finish this. Eric screamed in pain when Tiamak managed to slice through his abdomen and down into his thigh. Eric knew that Tiamak had overextended himself to do this, so Eric swung with all his strength at Tiamak's chest, where the claw Eric was using as a weapon ripped through the protective plating, and stuck in Tiamak's spine. Tiamak roared in pain, grabbed the claw stuck in his chest, yanked it out, and immediately fell to the dirt, twitching and spasaming as the claw severed his spine when Tiamak had ripped it out. Eric fell to his knees, then to his back. His lifeblood pooled around him, and his vision began to fade. He knew he was dying, but he also knew that Tiamak would follow quickly behind. The thought of that made Eric smile, and that is how this noble human passed, victorious in battle against a larger, stronger foe, with a ghost of a smile on his lips. As Eric expired, Tiamak knew he was the winner. He tried to struggle to move, but he was helpless. He knew, however, that he would be allowed medical attention now that the tournament was over, but it would have to come quick if he was to survive this... that human was a lot stronger and tougher than he ever dreamed. Tiamak's eyes darted in all directions, straining to see the medical personnel that should be running to his aid. He saw nothing. The crowd was silent... questioning why the winner had not been announced. Eric the human was dead. Tiamak was still alive (if barely) so Tiamak was the victor! Where was the blaring siren, denoting the end of the games and Tiamak victorious? A gasp ran through the crowd as all eyes turned to where Estelle lay in the dirt. They saw her slowly sit up, and struggle to her feet. They watched as she looked around the blood stained arena, festooned with body parts and corpses. They watched as she slowly shuffled forward in her fluffy slippers, each step creating a small cloud of dust. They watched in silence as she knelt by Eric, tears streaming down her cheeks. "rest well my warrior" she said softly and closed his unseeing eyes with her trembling hand. She struggled back to her feet, and looked with pure hatred at Tiamak. Tiamak tried to move.. to slash out at the frail human approaching him, but Eric's strike had been too deep. His limbs would not respond. Tiamak tried to say something, but only managed to cough up a green blob of bloody mucus to the dirt he lie in. He watched in terror as Estelle stooped, and picked up his broken claw. Tiamak tried to flail around, to scream, to do anything, but his body would not respond. He just saw Estelle slowly walk up to him, and place the sharp point of his own broken claw to his eye. "For Eric" Estelle managed to say, and put all her sickly, frail weight on the claw. It was enough. The razor sharp talon slid through Tiamak's eye, releasing a greenish, stringy liquid, and pierced through into his brain. The crowd was as silent as the grave. Suddenly, a loud siren blared, causing the entire arena to jump in their seats. "AMAZING!" an announcers voice blared through the stadium! "AMAZING! The games are over! We have a winner!" And then the crowd erupted in a roar of pure emotion. Some wailed at lost fortunes, others screamed for the unlikely human, and others yelled just to release pent up emotions. "The Victor of the Games!" the announcer roared, and beams of light from a dozen different sources shone down on Estelle's bent and shaking form. "Estelle the Mighty! Decimator Of Fortunes! Destroyer of Tiamak! Humanities strongest warrior!" Estelle only shuffled slowly back to the large gate at the exit to the arena. The crowd roared with excitement with every step she took, each puff of blood stained dirt her slippers raised... and then, just before she disappeared from view, she turned back to the crowd. A silence so complete you could hear the faintest of noises fell across the crowd. Every ear was bent, all attention was focused on this human warrior who stunned the galaxy.. waiting to see what she would do or say. Estelle slowly looked across the vast arena, taking in all the alien forms and creatures that covered every square inch of her vision. She slowly raised both arms above her head, her small hands clenched into fists... and then she quickly extended the middle finger of each hand, turned on her heel and left. Roaring, thinking it was a human sign of victory the crowd repeated the gesture, every arm of every alien raised to the heavens, every middle digit extended. It soon swept the Galaxy, any time a contest was won, anytime an opponent was bested, the victor would throw both arms to the heavens and extend the middle digit of their hands, in honor of Estelle the mighty. And Estelle, the God fearing religious woman that she was, had never made that gesture before in her life, but she truly felt that the good Lord would not hold this one time against her.
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CHAPTER 2 PRO TIPS! New Advanced/Pro Tips For Season 11 ...
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![[This Quest is Bullshit] - Chapter 75: Headaches](https://a.thumbs.redditmedia.com/_x93MiHq_0JmYD3BamQkylZL1tKg3r7mPTCy6CCNGT4.jpg "[This Quest is Bullshit] - Chapter 75: Headaches")
