Shaw shook his head. “You're not participating in the tournament.” Sybil let out a groan. “You're not. I am putting my foot down on this matter.”
“It's not appropriate for a lady of high standing,” added Duxton. “Your job is to stand next to me and let everyone marvel at how pretty you are.” Another groan escaped Sybil. If only Beat was here. Beat would let her beat people up. Beat let her get away with a lot of things.
“That isn't the reason at all. It's because you get...” Shaw fumbled his hands in front of him. “You've done a considerable amount of practice with Dalkirk and his squad. The nature of their training is…” His hands continued to fumble. “This is a tournament that is focused on showmanship and...”
“He thinks you're 'accidentally' going to murder someone,” clarified Duxton.
“Prince Duxton is also banned from participating,” replied Shaw in a hasty manner. “His status requires that he remain an observer. He is to stand around and pretend that he is pretty.”
“... I am pretty.” Duxton frowned as Shaw looked away. “Look at me and tell me that I'm pretty, Shaw.”
Sybil scoffed. “It's because he knows no one will fight him seriously and they'd let him win the tournament. He was already complaining about it this morning.” Duxton shrugged when Shaw glared at him. “... But maybe I do get a little stab happy when I’m dueling, so I won’t whine too much about not being able to participate.”
“Thank you.” The paladin winked. “Be sure to cheer for me.”
“I will,” replied Sybil.
Shaw may be a skilled fighter but he was still in for a challenge. They would be using real swords with blunted edges. Injuries were expected. Clerics were there to help with injuries and most of the combatants were paladins. Breaking bones was a must if one wanted to be crowned champion.
Most of the arrangements for the festival had already been done in advance. Baron Rockender had left the mayors in charge of planning the festival, and they had done a fine job doing so. Wooden shields and swords were being given out to children, food carts were at every corner, and tapestries of Iath led the crowds to the tournament area.
Shaw excused himself to prepare for the tournament while Duxton and Sybil ventured about. Sybil was feeling overdressed. This wasn’t like Carapace. They wore their every day working attire while she was in a bright yellow dress that had an open back. It felt uncomfortable to feel the breeze against her shoulder blades. How Zaniyah could stand it, she would never understand.
Just thinking about it made Sybil miserable. Zaniyah had sent a letter saying that she wanted to spend the holiday fighting off orphans. Not literally fighting orphans, but teaching them self defense skills, but Zaniyah had phrased it as “beating up a bunch of kids.” That was okay. Sybil simply had to be strong during her hour of need and not saddened by the fact that her friend couldn’t be there for her.
Duxton was idling by some of the stalls. Mostly the ones that sold cheap jewelry made of polished stone. Judging from his muttering, Sybil had guessed that he was debating picking up a souvenir for Rebecca. Then again, she was the one who had dumped him, so there seemed little point in forcing a gift on her.
Sybil’s eyes drifted off to the crowd. Her attentions were caught by one of the town guard. He was an older gentleman, and his uniform was a little worn, with a crooked collar, but he was a guard all the same. The man was looking about. Their eyes met, and he immediately lit up and began to head their way.
“Sir.” The man saluted Duxton. “There have been reports of suspicious individuals in town. Paladin Arbutus has requested that we escort you to the tournament immediately.”
Duxton turned around. His mind was still distracted and he had to look the man up and down for a moment before he realized what was going on. “... Of course.” He offered a hand to Sybil so he wouldn't lose track of her. “Come on.”
“I can walk on my own.” Sybil smartly replied.
The pair followed the guard while he explained the current danger. “There are still bandits stalking the mountain roads. We've gotten them to stop raiding the road between here and Redmount, but they still show up in town from time to time. We can’t arrest everyone that looks like a ruffian but we can talk precautions.”
“Of course,” repeated Duxton. He kept his eyes on the guard rather than the road ahead. The vacant tone in his voice caught Sybil's attention. He would normally be more attentive, but he was eerily distant.
A hiss escaped between her teeth someone brushed against her. A sharp pain resonated between her shoulders. Quickly, Sybil sought to get a glimpse of her back in a nearby store window. Blood was trickling down her skin. Something had made a shallow cut in it.
Suddenly, a wave of dizziness hit her head, similar to the chemical that had been used on her last winter. That ill drug that had been held upon her face until she had lost consciousness. Panic began to set in as she debated whether to fight or flight.
Her mind became flooded of being trapped alone in that dark, underground room. She didn't want to be taken away again. She didn’t want to be hidden without knowing if anyone was going to find her. Fear made her thoughts go blank, replaced by a faint buzzing. A subtle mist built around her feet as she attempted to go invisible. Anything was better than going through that again.
So she chose to run. Sybil couldn’t see the crowd around her, nor could she hear Duxton calling her name over the crowd. It didn’t even matter that she didn’t know her way around town. She continued to flee for her life until she spotted a dark alleyway. It was only after she had ducked into it that she took a moment to catch her breath.
Blackmount wasn’t nearly as large as Tilrey. As long as she headed in one direction at a brisk pace, she could be out of town within a few short minutes. Sybil pressed a hand against her temple as her spell began to falter. Sure, she was completely overtaken by fear by this point, but that shouldn’t have any effect on her magic. That knife had poison on it. Sybil was certain of it.
She retreated further into the alleyway. Sybil had to think as her attacker would. If they wanted her, where would they expect her to go next? They had attacked her in a crowded area and immediately retreated back into the crowd. That must mean that they were attempting to funnel her towards the tournament’s medical tent, where the next phase of their attack would begin.
Her head was becoming fuzzier, but she shook it off. Sybil had to concentrate. If there was a chance of her losing consciousness, she couldn’t risk heading out of town by herself. Should she seek out a member of the militia or guard? They could take her to a cleric. As long as she avoided the tournament, maybe she would be okay.
A shadow appeared at the entrance of the alley. “Are you alright, miss?” A young man was smiling at her in a reassuring manner.
“The sun was too much for me... I needed a brief break.” She faked a smile and started to back away from him. He was dressed just like the rest of the town’s people, but she was still wary of his appearance. Those that had taken her before seemed friendly as well.
He took a step towards her. “There's a tavern two streets over. I’m sure they’ll give you some water if you ask.”
Sybil quickly shook his head. “I have friends nearby. There is no need to worry about me.”
“And we both know that’s a lie,” he replied.
His smile was gone now. He didn’t get closer to her but he remained where he was, blocking her only exit. Sybil flicked her skirt to the side and yanked out a dagger. There was a calm patience on the man’s face. He knew that she had been poisoned. It didn’t matter how much their pleasantly argued back and forth, all he needed to do was wait for her to pass out.
“Get out of my way!” Sybil exclaimed in a commanding tone.
If he dared go against her, she was going to kill him. Or, uh... She was definitely going to kill both of those men that were in her way. Or... All four of them..? How many were there? He was either multiplying or her vision was blurring.
The man began to walk slowly towards her. His voice was as calm as his attitude. Patient, yet inviting. It echoed about her head as he spoke.
“Put the knife down.” Tal slipped from Sybil’s fingers and clattered on the ground. “Don't say a word.” Her voice was suddenly locked up in her throat. “Take my hand.” He held out his arm out towards her.
Sybil's hand was shaking from how hard she was trying to refuse his order. He finally grew impatient and snatched it up. With a firm tug, she was by his side. His free hand reached inside his pocket. A vial was pulled out, and he flicked the cork off with his thumb.
“Open your mouth. You're going to swallow this.”
There were small blackish-silver beads inside. Her mouth opened obediently and her head tilted back slightly as he tipped the vial over her mouth. The beads began to dissolve on her tongue, fizzing down her throat as she struggled to not swallow. Again, her body didn't listen to her. The concoction, which had a nasty copper flavor, was perfectly swallowed.
“Thank you, Sybil. Be a good girl and stay quiet. I’m taking you someplace where you can rest.” He lifted her up into his arms and began to carry her off.
Her mind was screaming as darkness began to spread across her vision. It was all happening again. What had she done wrong this time? No matter what she tried to do to prevent it, it always seemed like fate was challenging her.
“Is she alright?” Out of the corner of her eye, Sybil could see a bulky blurry thing stand in the man’s way.
“She's fine. She has some heatstroke.” The man looked down at her. “Tell him your fine, Sybil.”
“I-I'm fine... I have some heatstroke,” she repeated obediently.
The newcomer was undeterred. “I'm a paladin with medical training. The symptoms of heatstroke are not to be taken lightly. Allow me to examine her first before you carry her anywhere. We may need to head to a cleric’s immediately.”
That was Vincent's voice. She tried to squint and make him out so she could be sure, but she couldn't figure out how to focus. It was like there were six or eight beefy guys were swirling in and out of her vision.
“Shouldn't we take her to a tavern to first? Some water will do her better than keeping her in a dirty place like this.” The man took a step away from Vincent as the paladin moved forward.
Vincent's golem was summoned behind the man. It had changed since the last time Sybil had seen it. Somehow… Was it more pinkish? She couldn’t tell. Normally it was blue, she did know that much. It picked up Sybil's discarded dagger and tossed it at Vincent. He caught it swiftly and examined it for Chickadee’s blacksmith mark, which would confirm that it belonged to Sybil.
“I request you put her down and answer my questions immediately. If you do not comply, I will use force,” commanded Vincent.
“Why don't you take that little dagger and use it to cut out your own throat?!”
The man's demand seemed to break his control over Sybil. As Vincent raised the dagger up to his own neck, she stretched her hand towards it. “Tal!” It broke free of his grasp and whipped to her fingers. She swung it up and winced as warm liquid splattered against her face.
Sybil was dropped as the man recoiled in pain. She fumbled to run away from him and towards Vincent. The paladin caught her as her legs began to falter again. Whatever spell had overtaken the both of them had been broken. Cursing, the man began to stomp his foot against the ground.
Vincent's golem slammed its shield against the man, forcing him into the wall. He let out a grunt. Next to where the golem was standing, a sinkhole appeared. A woman rose up out of it. All she needed to do was point towards Vincent, and the bricks of the building slid over. Now all four of them were trapped in here.
“Put the girl down,” the woman demanded.
Her voice sounded familiar, but Sybil couldn't figure out why. She began to rub her eyes out of the hope that it would help her see more clearly. A yelp nearly escaped her mouth as Vincent picked her up and began to sprint at full speed at his golem.
The golem knelt down as Vincent leaped up, then used its shield to vault the pair over the obstruction. Vincent then used the crowds to his advantage as he ran. He weaved between carts and people, hoping to block sight between the elementalist and them. There was no stopping him, at least, until he crashed face-first into a large, glowing fist, which sent him stumbling backward.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
The spell dissipated around Duxton’s fist. His bracer than snapped off and formed into a halberd. He used it to trip up Vincent’s legs as the paladin attempted to regain his balance. “Unhand her!” He then blinked a few times. “... Highland?” He looked around. “Did Duke Sickleson send you to check up on us?” The prince lowered his weapon. His demeanor was suddenly calmer.
Though it felt like part of his skull had been cracked open, Vincent had to keep moving. He shifted Sybil's position in his arms as he stood back up. “We must make our escape. There may be enemies following us.”
Duxton shifted his halberd back into a bracer and placed the back of his hand on Sybil's forehead. A sweat had broken out. She felt cold to the touch. “She didn't die again, did she?” Vincent was confused by the question. “... No? Was she poisoned?” He wiped the blood off her face and felt relieved to know that it wasn’t hers.
He noticed that there was blood on Vincent’s clothes. Duxton ducked so he could look at Sybil’s back. There was blood oozing slowly from the wound, and the veins around it were dark. Nearly as dark as the look that flashed across Duxton's eyes.
“Sir,” replied Vincent urgently.
“We'll take her to a cleric. Keep her there while I secure us some transport. You and I will take her back to the estate afterward.” His voice was calm, but his face was doing an ill job of hiding his rage.
They whisked her away to a cleric, who diagnosed the wound on her back as a sedative. She would be fine as long as she drank plenty of water. As for the vial she was forced to drink… None of them had a clue. It could be an attempt at heavy metal poisoning, but they wouldn’t know what kind until Sybil began to show some symptoms.
Duxton returned with Brom and the prince was the one who helped Sybil into the carriage. Vincent rode his horse, keeping his eyes peeled for trouble, while Brom set about driving. Sybil was allowed to sleep peacefully. She was already feeling better by the time they got back to the estate, but the others insisted that she sit in a bed while they discussed what happened.
Vincent checked on Sybil’s back while Duxton paced back and forth. The color of her skin was beginning to return to normal. So far, there were no symptoms caused by what she had swallowed. All they could do was wait until the next day.
Though the issue seemed to be settled, Duxton was nonetheless perturbed. “Anyone could have known her name. There must be a hundred or more gossipers running about and talking about how kind and wonderful Prince Duxton is. He has taken time out of his schedule to see to Baron Rockender’s business and has brought that gloomy girl with him. How chivalrous he is to have taken someone like her under his wing.”
Even after Sybil had been attacked, Duxton couldn't stop being cocky. Sybil shook it off. Time and time again, she was reminded of why she didn’t like this guy, even though he kept insisting that he be her friend.
“I remember the woman's voice now. She was the mage that had been with the two men who kidnapped me. They called her Jane.”
“A fake name,” replied Duxton. “Do you think they were hired to do something to you? One of their men was executed in Mareth. The other was attempting to sell off your sword off in Carapace. Though that was shortly before you arrived in the city. It’s possible that he had been sent there to lure you out with your weapon.”
Sybil realized that Duxton might know more than he was letting on. The thought made her frown. In terms of gods and such, they had only told Duxton what they thought he needed to know. That was about Tyrtain and nothing more. She always had the suspicion that they were keeping her falchion from her, and Duxton’s words confirmed it. The only reason she got it back was because they needed its power to save her life.
Vincent, blissfully unaware of the depth of their situation, offered his own thoughts. “Over half a year has passed between her kidnapping and now. Their attempts at ransom failed. I see little point in coming after her again.”
“Beat was the one who retrieved the sword.” Duxton set his hand against his chin. “I should have asked if he had done an interrogation. I had thought it was simply a coincidence, since their previous target was a caravan heading to Carapace. However, there could have been spies in Carapace. Those watching after her with no way to approach.”
Sybil was always surrounded by others during her public appearances. Beat always escorted her to and from the Toval estate. There was only one gap in her protection, and that was at Duke Rubire’s ball. That wasn’t a kidnapping. It was a murder.
Barcus’ only motivation was spontaneous revenge. He had acted alone and it was a crime of convenience. Sybil couldn’t remember any other time where someone had tried to attack her, other than the would-be. That certainly had nothing to do with slavers. This was likely Duxton’s paranoia spinning tales within his head.
Sybil struggled to sit up, but they both glared at her until she laid back down. “Sir Stonetoe wouldn’t allow us to go on any spring missions. This is the first time I’ve left the barracks since I returned from Carapace.”
“As a last-minute attachment,” muttered Duxton. He then nodded to himself. “This was all a trap to capture you.”
She scoffed at the idea. “You’re being crazy.”
“Someone at the barracks had planned out this mission specifically with you in mind,” retorted Duxton. “They had no choice but to spring it on you last minute, because that fish would’ve found a way to either weasel you out on be on your side.”
Sybil shook her head. “If I had known about this mission beforehand, Zaniyah would’ve been the one who would’ve come with me. Macestar only brought her as an extra hand to carry boxes.”
“Exactly,” replied Duxton with a wag of his finger. “That is a very good point… She was planted there to control your movements. So you would make the mistake of trying to run off to her instead of going back to the barracks.
“All of this is based on the assumption that there is a powerful and nefarious force controlling the barracks?” Asked Vincent.
“Indeed it is,” muttered Duxton in a distant tone.
Vincent shook his head. “You have been here for three weeks. It is equally likely that someone spotted Sybil in Blackmount during that time. They have simply been waiting for this festival in order to enact their revenge.”
There was a loud tapping as Duxton began to tap his foot. He was annoyed. “You.” He glared at Vincent. “You’re here because Baron Rockender is not returning.”
Vincent didn’t appreciate the change in subject, but he continued. “His resignation arrived a week ago. Duke Sickleson makes the request that arrangements be made to take care of this place until a suitable replacement is found. Due to the wealth that this baronry generates, he wishes to consider his options carefully.”
“As he should. I am willing to abide by that request as long as you write to him saying that you left your halberd there and wish to see it returned to the barracks safely. Send it by messenger. You are to remain here as an additional guard to the estate.”
Vincent bowed. “I am happy to serve, however, I wish to know the meaning of the code you are having me send.”
“It’s to say that I will not wait long. I reject your proposal that Sybil’s attack today was simply a crime of convenience. Someone at the barracks does not have her best interests in mind.” Duxton gritted his teeth for a moment. “Someone who was willing to sacrifice Gildenboot to make good on their foolish gambit.”
Once again, Vincent disagreed. “There is no evidence of this.”
“Baron Rockender had no reason to leave this place. This position is a comfortable one. Plenty of riches to be had with very little responsibility. One might argue that he may seek out the city life, but it was all the more likely that he was forced out. I have been through his records and letters. There is plenty of suspicions to be had.
Why would a rich man choose to withdraw and spend nearly all of his assets? He only kept the newest staff on his staff. Any longtime and loyal member was given practically their weight in gold and told to move outside of the baronry. Rockender’s letters suggest that he is marrying within Grand Temple, and that he has no plans on leaving. Make no mistake, he fled this place.”
“That seems all so overly elaborate,” muttered Sybil.
“Why have Lady Larkin die in a golem accidentally only to have her end up in Fogbloom half a year later?” Duxton asked. “Because they could not afford to have her allies in the Coral Kingdom find out what happened to her. We are dealing with those who hate the idea of blame being placed upon them. You also have your connections, Sybil. If word ever got out about your mother after something happened to you, the Coral Kingdom would no doubt hold an investigation.”
Vincent was finding difficulty in following their conversation. Sybil’s mother? People after her? He had only stayed in Carapace a couple of weeks longer than the others. Somehow, it felt like everything he had missed could fill up an entire novel.
“I’ll explain it later,” said Sybil. “... Sir.” Duxton had stopped tapping his foot and was now pacing back and forth. “Duxton.” He turned and frowned at her. “This is likely an attack of opportunity, just like last time. Remember winter? They spotted me with a glasstrotter. It was only natural to assume that I had a lot of money. If they had anything to do with someone in Fogbloom, I would’ve been taken there rather than buried in the ground.”
“It doesn’t change the fact that they have a powerful elementalist,” spat back Duxton. He then tossed his hands in the air. “And a man capable of controlling others with his words! This is a group that is working for someone else. Someone with great power and influence. We cannot take risks.”
“Zaniyah is a six-hour ride away. I can go there,” Sybil replied in a calm voice.
Duxton gritted his teeth. “And how do I know that that wasn’t a part of their plans? If this fool of a mastermind arranged to have you here, then they know that you will flee to your friends when you are in danger. Going to her now would be sending you into an ambush.”
“You're being paranoid,” she said, once again calmly.
“Apparently I have to be when it comes to you!” Duxton wrung his hands in the air, as though he were mentally choking her. “How does that fish even put up with this?! You've taken ten years off my life!” He let out another growl. “I don't even know why I choose to put myself through this suffering!”
Vincent spoke up. “My lord, I suggest you take a walk to cool your head. The heat can muddle even the strongest of minds.”
“Are you in on this?!” Duxton took a step away from Vincent. “You certainly appeared at a convenient time. How do I know that you weren't offered a bribe while you were in Carapace? That would explain why you returned to the barracks… How were you able to find her when she was invisible?”
“I have trained with Sybil for some time and the spell she was using was weakened by poison,” replied Vincent. “I saw a flickering ghost run through the crowd and assumed that it might have been her. Out of curiosity, I went to investigate.”
Duxton put his arm on his bracer, as though he were about to summon his weapon. “You dare lie to the crown prince?!”
Sybil clapped her hands and pointed towards the door. “Get out and cool your head! I'm not going to deal with you now! Not when you're acting like a child!”
Duxton glared at her for a moment. He gritted his teeth again and marched to the door, slamming it behind him. Much to Vincent’s silent disapproval, Sybil got up from the bed so she could open the window. She either needed a fresh breeze or to clear the room of all the hot air that Duxton had been spitting out.
“Have you been dealing with these worries for some time?” Vincent frowned as Sybil turned around. She was exhausted. Every bit of her expression and posture screamed it. “Is he usually this intense?”
“Sometimes.” Sybil folded her arms and leaned against the wall. “He was right though. The Baron wanted to leave. Many of the people who had been working for this barony had families that had been here for generations. I don’t see why they would choose to leave now.”
“And he would have no reason to get rid of them unless he believed that something terrible was about to happen,” replied Vincent. “Such as the dissolvement of this baronry.”
Sybil nodded in agreement. “He left. That alone could be enough to do it. Duke Sickleson may choose to fold this baronry into a neighboring one, and then everyone here would be left without a job.”
Vincent furrowed his brows. “I will write to Duke Sickleson and inform him that I have chosen to stay for an extended period. I would not worry about the mind mage coming in here. We know that he has gaps in his powers, and we can use that to our advantage. On another note, would you prefer it if I requested to have a room close to yours? If you do not wish to be alone, I can sleep on the couch. It wouldn't bother me.”
“I can defend myself, Vincent,” reassured Sybil. He didn't seem certain. “I promise to practice defending myself better, alright?”
Vincent hesitate. “... Alright. Please try to get some rest.”
“I will,” replied Sybil with a smile.
A smile that quickly dropped once Vincent left. She wanted to work, or to practice fighting, but she also knew she would be yelled at if she tried to make it past the door. With a sigh, she resigned to get some reading in. Maybe tomorrow, they would let her look at incident reports in Blackmount. Sybil was curious to know how often the bandits showed up.
After a few hours, the door creaked open. Shaw silently entered and set a plate on her nightstand. Freshly baked bread that had been cut into three thick slices before toasting and was served with two small bowls. One with butter, the other with sour apple jelly.
The paladin was furious. It took hours for anyone to inform him that Sybil had been attacked. He had joined the town guard investigation, which unfortunately turned up nothing. It was likely that the elementalist chose to either walk away in the crowd or disappear into the ground without a trace.
Once he returned to estate, he locked himself in the kitchens, where he cooked and baked until he had calmed himself down. Though, he didn’t bother talking to either Duxton or Vincent. He knew that he would be enraged again if he did so.
“Thank you Shaw,” whispered Sybil. She didn’t look up at him, instead eyeing the bread while trying to hide her delight. With a shake of her head, she tried to snap out of it. “How did the tournament go?”
“I dropped out once I learned of your incident,” replied Shaw. His face showed no hint of joy, anger, or dismay.
Sybil hung her head off to the side. “Dammit. I’m really sorry, Shaw. I thought you were going to win.”
“I was planning on losing,” replied Shaw. “It wouldn’t look well upon either you or Duxton if some brash young paladin from outside the area defeated their veteran heroes.” He leaned in and ruffled her hair, like an older brother would.
Sybil touched the top of her head. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. Personally, she would’ve wanted to see him win, but that wasn’t Shaw. He always put the reputations of those he served first.
Shaw stared at her for a moment before he sat on the edge of her bed. “Priestesses of Eatha are capable of mood-altering magic,” he began. “There are illegal herbs that they use to make their… Patients more susceptible to their spells. Paladin Highland’s description of the mind mage’s spells leads me to believe that his work is finicky. That vial was likely a concoction likely allows him to affect you more easily.”
“That’s…” Sybil’s voice drifted off. “... I suppose that’s good to hear.” It was a lie. Any news regarding that incident, good or bad, would have no effect of making her feel better.
“We don’t know how long that drug will work,” continued Shaw. “Likely for a while, if they planned on transporting you anywhere.” Once again, the news did nothing to give Sybil joy. “You must remain vigilant.”
“How am I supposed to? I know, I know. I need to stay calm and keep my eyes open, but that doesn’t help.” Sybil began to nervously wring her hands together. “How am I supposed to keep going if one unpredictable second is enough to ruin my life?”
“One unpredictable second is enough to end anyone’s life. That is the nature of being unpredictable,” replied Shaw. He then stood up and straightened his tunic. “We use our wits and do what we can to lessen our risks. Fear is what holds us back. There is already enough that we should fear, but we must never let the unknown be counted on that list.”
Sybil looked down at her hands before nodding to herself. “Thank you, Shaw.” She didn’t bother to look up at him.
Shaw pointed to the plate. “Eat. Supper will be ready in a few hours. Someone will bring it to you.”
Once again, Sybil thanked him. She waited until he was out the door before picking up a slice of bread. The thinnest possible layer of butter was spread on, followed by another thin layer of jelly. Her eyes stared absentmindedly ahead as she took a bite.
The bread was fluffy and delicate, like cake, but only the jelly part was sweet. Though some would call it plain, for Sybil, it was absolutely delectable. Yet, it was also saddening at the same time. What was the point? If it could end at any second, what was the point in doing any of this anymore?