Third Happiest Place on Earth

On October 22, 2025September 12, 2025 By kyndarisLeave a comment

Although my visit to China was primarily to pay my grandparents a visit it also came with the stipulation to cross off a few things off my bucket list. Including, of course, the attending of the Disneylands at both Shanghai and Hong Kong. I am, after all, a self-proclaimed Disney afficionado. Raised through, and by, the films during my childhood (my mother even claims they were my babysitters while she prepared dinner in the evenings).

So, after a less than restful night, my mother and I hopped onto the Shanghai Metro to head, bright and early, to Shanghai Disney Resort. As well as the wonders beyond.

But first, I do feel compelled to advise that despite the convenient nature of the metro, my main gripe with the system is the requirement to have one’s bags scanned for possible explosives. This, of course, isn’t limited just to metro lines but to the airports as well. To me, it feeds an undercurrent of fear though I’ve not heard of any untoward actions made against the myriad forms of transport in China.

Once we arrived at Shanghai Disneyland, I was immediately taken in by its manicured lawn, the entryway leading on, and the castle off in the distance. Much like the other Disneylands, there was also a need to have our bags checked. But whereas fingerprints were required for Disneyworld in Florida, Shanghai Disneyland, much like the rest of China, relied on facial recognition.

Our first destination once we had entered? Adventure Isle!

My plan was to tackle the park by going anti-clockwise around it. A decent enough plan as any – leaving Tomorrowland for last. But while I could have gone the other way, the rides I was able to see from the app I downloaded seemed to paint Adventure Isle as the place to go. So, off my mother and I trotted to the first ride: Roaring Rapids.

Being a water ride, though, there were staff selling ponchos. Yet, unlike the rest of China, the vendor only accepted cash. Thankfully, my mother had a few bills in hand. In exchange, we received two disposable ponchos to keep us fairly dry while we splashed around on the makeshift river.

That said, I do believe I should pull you aside, dear reader, to advise that should one visit China their main form of payment is through their phone. But whereas we here in Australia have it linked to our credit cards, those in the Middle Kingdom use Alipay or WeChat pay to do so. To pay, they can either scan a QR code or have their own scanned by the vendor.

Though a foreign bank card can be linked for payment, they cannot be used to top up a set balance for use. If one is lucky enough to have a relative in China with a bank account in the country, however, they can issue a relative card with a set amount to be used. Payments can be deducted from that without incurring international transaction fees (that said, mine were waived until the end of December).

Equipped with ponchos, which we then slipped on as we approached the start of the ride, I was more than ready to tackle my first ride of the day. And what a thrilling ride it was! Though, I must say, I was disappointed we didn’t get more wet from hitting the rapids and having it hit us from above. Rather, the water simply sloshed in from the side during inopportune moments when our circular raft would bop against the prop rocks.

It would have been wiser to have placed plastic around my shoes rather than my toros. For, after the ride was over, and I peeled off the poncho, I was drenched head from toe in sweat.

Taking the lead once more (now that I was in my element at Disneyland), my mother and I ventured further through Adventure Isle. We rested briefly as an outdoor band (the Disney Explorer Band) performed a few choice pieces from the Disney vault, watched Eye of the Storm: Captain Jack’s Stunt Spectacular, then powered through two additional rides: Soaring Over the Horizon and Pirates of the Caribbean: Battle for the Sunken Treasure.

That said, I have to say Soaring Over the Horizon was a little on the nose with its tourist marketing for Shanghai. Having the Disney wishing star arc across the Shanghai landscape? Really? And the footage of Sydney harbour being from a decade ago? Shame, Disney!

Lunch was had at Barbossa’s Bounty still in Treasure Cove. Once we had eaten our fill, we headed towards Fantasyland but briefly diverted to Zootopia (the specifically built land for Shanghai Disneyland – and which explained all the Judy Hopps and Nick Wilde cosplays I was seeing around the park. That said, Zootopia 2 is set to release in November this year so…). There, we enjoyed Zootopia: Hot Pursuit with the likes of Nick and Judy to rescue pop star sensation Gazelle from the clutches of the evil Bellweather.

With Bellweather back behind bars, my mother and I entered fantasyland proper. We listened to the stylings of the Travelling Troubadours before heading over to watch the Frozen: A Sing-Along Celebration. Of course, being the Frozen fan I am, I knew how to sing almost all the songs (which were a smattering collection from both the original Frozen and its sequel). Unfortunately, the songs were sung in Chinese Mandarin. As I couldn’t read the lyrics that were on screen, I just sang them in English (after all, I’d memorised them).

It was still amusing to hear the hired actors, though, speak with strong foreign accents. They were clearly not native Chinese speakers. Presumably, though, they had been trained to still sing the songs in Chinese flawlessly.

Once I’d ruined my throat, my mother and I headed down towards Tomorrowland (but not before traipsing through the Alice in Wonderland Maze). Along the way, we stopped by Toy Story Land where we enjoyed Woody’s Roundup and pondered if we ought to line up for Rex’s Racer. In the end, though, we decided to head to Tomorrowland where we enjoyed a round of Buzz Lightyear Planet Rescue before following it up with TRON Lightcycle Power Run. And given TRON: Ares is also releasing THIS year, it would have been a crime not to.

By the time we emerged from our last ride, it was nearing 7 PM. My mother and I grabbed a quick dinner at Pinocchio Village Kitchen (I wanted to try out some pizza), before heading back to our hotel.

While we could have stayed to watch the fireworks, I was already tuckered out from an intense day of rides, thrills and summer heat. Perhaps we could have stayed a little while longer browsing the stores for merchandise I could bring home but I was limited by the luggage my mother needed to bring back home with her. As it was, I managed to procure for myself a tricorn hat (and if the quality is a little subpar, who was I to judge? I have a tricorn hat that I can wear now on the odd occasion)!

Suffice it to say, Shanghai Disneyland would probably rank quite high among the Disneylands I’ve been to by virtue of the fact I can actually understand Chinese Mandarin and did not feel terribly lost when the characters in shows or on rides started spouting dialogue (whereas in Japan, I was completely clueless). In terms of size, I feel like it’s on par with Universal Studios in Osaka and has plenty of things for the casual Disney fan to enjoy.

The only downside? No Star Wars.

But more importantly, no Disney Lorcana cards for me to buy and feed to my ever growing collection.

And after one booster box each for the eight (now nine sets but Fabled is primarily reprints with the occasional Dumbo and The Goofy Movie tie-ins), my collection is a veritable treasure trove of all the classic animated Disney films.

Two more to go!

Side note: never visit in the summer. Ever.

The Orient Pearl Adventure

On October 21, 2025September 9, 2025 By kyndarisLeave a comment

When people think Shanghai, most think of the picture perfect Bund and the riverside walk beside it. And on my first night in Shanghai (granted, I’ve been to Shanghai before but was limited in playing actual tourist) with my mother in tow, the Bund and Nanjing Road were exactly where we went to take in the sights and sounds. If only it were not so gosh darn hot and humid!

In fact, stepping off the plane, my immediate regret was that we hadn’t already returned to the wintry climes of Australia. The wrongness was further magnified when the rideshare car pulled up at the wrong hotel and we had to wait for another. Even then, the hotel my mother initially booked was less than stellar. It was far from all the amenities we would be heading out to see and looked more rundown than lush and lavish.

Having tired from the time spent with my extended family in Xinjiang, I was chomping on the bit to actually start holidaying in bliss. Once we’d shed our luggage, we headed to the main thoroughfare of Nanjing Road (a forty or so minute drive from the hotel we were currently staying at. During the drive, my mother cancelled our stay for the next three nights and as we enjoyed our dinner, booked a new hotel much closer to where we were actually going. It was also closer to the metro station).

Once we arrived, we set about finding a place to dine. This ended up being at Hongyi Plaza where we enjoyed some simple fare. Though I’d eaten on the four hour flight over, it hadn’t been quite as filling as I’d hoped (that said, I did watch Sonic and Sing 2). After dinner, we headed down the wrong direction – passing by Miniso Land, a SEGA store and animate (a store I thought was Japan only) before realisation struck. Then it was an about turn as we headed back east towards Waitan, the famous waterfront area of Shanghai with its blend of European architecture and iconic skyscraper heavy skyline.

What I had not anticipated, however, were the sheer number of people in attendance. Despite the hour, and the perpetual heat, Waitan and Nanjing Road had an ocean of heaving bodies. Suffice it to say, my mother and I enjoyed a stroll down towards the pier before taking a taxi back to our hotel.

The next day, we woke late. After checking out, we hopped once more into another rideshare car and took it to our new hotel for the rest of our stay in Shanghai. Once we’d unpacked the necessities, it was back out onto the streets.

Our destination? Shanghai Tower.

The tallest building in China, it stands at 632 metres and is situated at the heart of Lujiazui, Pudong. It officially opened in 2015, it began construction in 2008. Equipped with one of the fastest lifts, we reached near the top within a minute or so.

And though my mother and I vacillated between it and the Oriental Pearl TV Tower, Shanghai Tower won out because it it was higher and we would be able to look down at it from the observation deck. Even bleachpanda knows I seek out the high point in every city I visit so I can look out and enjoy a bird’s eye view.

I blame all the time I’ve played the Assassin’s Creed series. Because while I won’t ever be able to do a Leap of Faith, I can still head up high to survey the nearby landscape.

While we were at Shanghai Tower, my mother and I enjoyed a hot drink and a passionfruit red velvet cake. A treat for the trekking we’d done earlier in the morning. But also, who wouldn’t want a nice little snack while looking out on the sprawling city beneath them? If Altair or Ezio could pack a sandwich perked on the top of a roof, I’m sure they’d do so.

Evie Frye would know what I mean. She’s British, after all.

After we had drunk our fill of the sight, mother and I headed back down. Stopping briefly at a 7-11, we enjoyed a quick lunch of sandwiches and vegetarian bao. Alas, it is only at time of writing up this post that I’ve realised we missed out on checking out the flagship Disney store that was also nearby.

Nevertheless, Yu Yuan (also known as Yuyuan Garden) was our next stop.

We stopped by a local temple before wending our way through the shopping complex to the Jiuqu Bridge. What surprised me were the promotional material for a video game also evident on display. But I suppose they were trying to modernise and bring in a younger clientele to the site.

It wasn’t long before we headed into Yuyuan Garden proper. First built in 1559 during the Ming Dynasty, it is located in the northeast part of the Old City of Shanghai in Huangpu District. But while Wikipedia tells me the grounds were designed to be a complex set of different gardens with the Exquisite Jade Rock to serve at its centrepiece, I took more pleasure in admiring the architecture. Of particular interest were the two dragons playing with a pearl.

Once we’d wandered through the entirety of the garden (and did some light shopping), we headed back to the hotel to rest. Before too long, it was dinner time. My mother and I found a place that served xiaolongbaos – a delicacy straight from Shanghai and enjoyed our fill (though they can also be found in abundance in Sydney) – before she soon retired for the night.

I, on the other hand, was keen to keep exploring. Knowing there was an animate and SEGA store in Shanghai, I headed back along Nanjing Road to check out what merchandise they had on offer. Suffice it to say, I spent quite a pretty penny on Like a Dragon badges and a few Persona 5 standees. Then there was a Dungeon Meshi blind box I bought. While I’d had my eyes set on getting a squishable Senshi head, Marcille was who i got instead.

But what took me by surprise was the fact the department store had a MUGIWARA store! And even a NARUTO CAFE (otherwise known as Ichiraku Ramen)!

it was like I’d gone back to Japan! But without bleachpanda next to me, I had to admit the weeb in this instance was me.

Before too long, I returned back to the hotel with a smattering of merchandise in tow. While I could have bought more at the time, DISNEYLAND was waiting.

Murder on the Cableway Express

On October 20, 2025September 8, 2025 By kyndarisLeave a comment

As someone who has always wanted to ape the great Sherlock Holmes, I’ve always liked to sit and observe those around me. While it’s not as quaint as sussing out if someone passes the ‘vibe check’ as per Gen Z slang or as astute as the way the detective is able to deduce the brand of cigarettes a person smokes simply by the ash they find on the side of the road, I like to think I’m a dab hand at reading those around me to a fairly accurate degree.

So it was that when asked who was more inclined to murder the other atop a cableway up on Maya Mountain, which overlooks Tianchi Lake, I felt compelled to offer up my deduction. Suffice it to say, my response seemed to surprise both my aunt and cousin.

But first, some context!

During some downtime between my next grand adventure and the visit I paid to my elderly grandparents, my cousin and aunt saw fit to take me out to see the sights and sounds of Xinjiang. One particular point of interest not too far from the city of Urumqi is Tianchi. Translated to Heavenly Lake, it is an an alpine lake located in the Tian Shan Mountain range.

Tian Shan, itself, is supposedly the seventh highest mountain range in Eurasia (although someone will probably need to fact check me) and runs between China, Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan. According to Wikipedia, its highest peak is Jengish Chokusu and its lowest point is the Turpan Depression. Formed from the collision of the Indian and Eurasion tectonic plates, it is also part of the Himalayan orogenic belt.

My aunt and cousin picked me up via taxi from the hotel I was staying at. Earlier in the day, my mother had left on a short trip to Alar with Popo in Aksu Prefecture. The reason? Popo had wanted to see the sights of the place she had lived in during the Cultural Revolution and see if much had changed. As for me, I was to stay for a few more days in Urumqi until my mother returned and we could finally head out on a proper trip to a few places I wanted to cross off my bucket list.

From the hotel, the taxi took us to the airport where my cousin had rented a hire car. Once we had located the SUV Volkswagen, my cousin offered his wife the option to drive. But though she managed to get it started, he soon took over (deeming her driving subpar). before we’d even left the carpark. This, of course, was before he’d even set the navigation (which was the one thing she wanted as she had no idea where to go).

All throughout the drive, the two of them bickered in the front two seats. According to my aunt, the two of them bantered quite a lot though there were moments my cousin would take it too far.

This, I saw in spades during the hour long drive to Tianchi.

Even as we parked and headed in through the entrance, I quietly watched the dynamic between them. And so, once we up on the cableway and I was asked to use my criminology prowess to decide the likely culprit in a murder, I was quick to indicate it would be the quiet introvert wife who would end up murdering my cousin if he wasn’t careful. After all, I’d endured many a death threat from bleachpanda while we were in Japan and South Korea despite my fairly innocent japes.

This, of course, was during the return trip back down the cableway where we’d bonded over the arduous hike up to the second observation platform and had enjoyed a moment’s rest at the overpriced cafe (to my vast disappointment, hot chocolate was not an option and I had to make do with hot milk instead. Which, to be fair, was better than the caffeinated hazelnut latte).

Once we’d drunk our fill of the wonderful sights and sounds of Tianchi, we hopped back into the car. Curious about my cousin’s claims regarding the less than stellar performance of the hire car in question, I gave it a bit of a whirl in the carpark before deferring to my cousin’s wife.

Now that she was behind the wheel for the second time, however, she refused to relinquish control. The drive back across the highway was a hair-raising experience but not as terrifying as the adrenaline-filled close-calls we had during peak hour traffic within the city of Urumqi itself. There were so many times I thought another car would clip the hire car. Yet, despite the fact I’d kept a tight hand on the handle, we arrived back at my grandparents’ house unscathed.

Still, it might take me some time before I trust her behind the wheel. Though, I have to say, my cousin was probably the more scared out of all four of us in the car. And when he’s stressed, his voice rises. Another sure sign that the reason why the two of them sometimes end up fighting is because he needs to learn some tact when it comes to conversing with his wife.

After all, the adage does go: Happy Wife, Happy Life.

Or maybe they’ll seek a marriage counsellor in the future. Who knows.

Certainly not me.

Suffice it to say, my cousin was not found dead in my aunt’s house the next day. Rather, the two headed out early to catch a flight so they could return to Shenzhen.

I, on the other hand, was required to relocate from the hotel and stay an entire afternoon with little stimulation in my grandparents’ house as officials wished to grant to my grandfather a medal to commemorate 80 years since the end of World War II.

Admittedly, I would have liked to have spent another day with my cousin to see the sights and sounds of Xinjiang but given the responsibilities he had at work, it was a little difficult to extend his break. Even during our trip to Tianchi, he was on a call with his underlings back in the office, painstakingly going over the PowerPoint presentation they had created for some project or other.

A day after, my mother returned with Popo in tow.

The adventure was about to begin.

The Secret of Longevity

On October 19, 2025September 8, 2025 By kyndarisLeave a comment

Despite advances in medical science, living to your 80s is still a difficult feat when life can throw all manner of curve balls. But getting to 99 (or, as many in East Asian countries see it, 100), is still almost impossible in this day and age. Even with filthy billionaires trying to game the system with expensive sauna trips and research into cryogenics.

My grandparents (on my father’s side), it must be said, never had any of that. Theirs was a hard life.

The two of them met during the Korean War (with my grandfather having also fought in the Second World War). Then, after marriage, the two of them were repatriated to the far-flung corner of Xinjiang following Liberation. The two of them faced famine, hard labour and uncertain futures. Yet though they might look fragile from the outside as they shuffle forward and dodder about the past, I can’t help but wonder if they have truly unlocked the secrets of immortality.

The journey over to Urumqi, Xinjiang, was an arduous one that involved a late flight on a Friday evening. It meant arriving in Guangzhou at about 5 AM (local time) in the morning before transferring to another five hour long domestic flight. Akin to flying to Perth from Sydney.

That said, I did travel in luxury. And by that I mean I headed on over to China in business (though not entirely by choice. Given my ageing grandma – on my mother’s side – was also heading over, I was required to upgrade to keep her company). Yes, dear reader. You read it correctly. BUSINESS.

Unfortunately, even with the ability to actually sleep lying down, I felt like I mostly microslept/ napped my way over. There was no proper night’s rest for me. And how could I have enjoyed it when we were woken up for breakfast at 4:30 AM (Australian Eastern Standard Time) before our early arrival. Still, at least I managed to enjoy a Spanish omelette, as well as have a decent lunch on the second flight.

During my flight over to Xinjiang, I was seated next to a fellow Australian. Unlike myself, though, she was visiting the autonomous region purely as a tourist as she had retired and wanted to see the sights around China. Originally from the Guangdong province, she had settled in Melbourne. She had two sons. One, a dentist.

While most of it was just simple small talk, it was nice to have a conversation during the long flight over.

Once we finally landed, I finally reunited with my mother (after nearly 11 months apart). She, along with my uncle (her brother), were there to pick us up and take my grandma (to be referred to as Popo) back to my uncle’s house where she would stay for a vast majority of the trip. My uncle, being quite magnanimous had prepared for us a late lunch. After we’d been fed, and I had toured the house, he drove me and my mother to the hotel we would be staying for a couple of nights.

After all, the main event was still to come on the next day with my grandfather’s 99th (or, in his eyes, his 100th) and my grandmother’s 95th birthday.

Fun fact, the two of them share the same date (at least according to the Lunar calendar)!

Given the momentous occasion, there were quite a number of guests in attendance. Including a once estranged aunt (divorced from my uncle) who looked like she had not changed one iota from the last thirty years. There were also a few other distant family members as my grandfather had previously been married and had a child prior to his marriage to my grandmother.

Then, of course, there were my immediate cousins. Of these, the oldest had brought along his four-month old daughter. The other cousin, though married, was still childless. And then there was me. Single, not sure if she wanted to mingle, and possibly not even straight.

As I was the youngest of the cousins, I was gifted a few presents of my own. Including, of course, a few Pop Mart items. These included a Monsters pendant, a Monsters scented candle, and a Monsters snowglobe. Unfortunately, the one I received had to be confiscated when I flew to Shanghai but I was able to find and purchase a replacement. And so, it is with a heavy heart, dear readers, that I report the loss of my happiness for the greatest evil of all: hope (at least according to Nietzche).

Now, I’ll admit, these family affairs always feel a little extravagant and daunting. I’ll be the first to confess I don’t like them much at all. Especially because I don’t know many of the others in attendance (living in Australia and about a 14 hour flight away does that to you). In fact, I’m probably the least close to my grandparents. So, it feels terrible to show up and claim the money they so freely shower (mostly because I don’t feel like I deserve it).

That said, I suppose to my grandparents, showing up is the greatest gift to them. It’s not so easy to travel all that distance, after all.

And while I may not have grown up under their watchful eye, there’s still a sense that they want to know who I am. Curiosity mixed in, of course, with a dose of familial love. It’s just that there’s such a huge yawning gulf between us in terms of culture and the things I or they might be interested in.

Still, I suppose, too, it’s also good to see how they’re doing too. Even though it’s only snapshot moments with many years between them. Though, that said, they haven’t much changed since the last time I visited. Except maybe they’ve grown a little older and more frazzled with the passage of time.

My fault, most of the time, of course but since the pandemic, I do feel like time has a way of getting away when you want it the most.

In any case, the banquet was a huge success. Though, I have to admit, being put on the spot to give a speech about my grandparents was not on my bucket list. If I’d been given some forewarning, and time to prepare, I like to think I would have given something quite a bit more eloquent. Alas, nerves got the better of me and I only thought to keep it simple (of course, if I’d gone for something a little more complex, my mother would not have been able to interpret for me).

So, though I know my grandparents will never read this (nor will my mother), I believe I ought to leave some parting words:

To my grandfather,

A hundred years is no small feat. Though you’ve known me before I was even born, I have been lucky to have you for as long as I have. Despite the years and distance separating us, knowing that you, and grandmother, are continuing strong even at this late age fills me with hope for the future.

The sign of a life well lived is the indelible legacy one leaves behind. Be they family or the memories friends remember. To have a hundred years of stories, then, is truly remarkable. And what a life you have lived. From the start of the Second World War til our current age of smartphones and AI.

May you remain hale, hearty and keep your mind forever sharp even in your golden years. And, who knows, maybe you’ll have a hundred more to go.

Happy birthday!

On a completely unrelated note, I do hope the billionaires pouring millions of dollars into the longevity business never do find the secret of living forever. It’s certainly not a power I’d want to see in their hands.

Though I like to think it comes from having a daily routine, eating well and their uncanny ability to siphon the lifeforce of two of their three children.

The Whispering Stars (Part 4)

On October 12, 2025September 6, 2025 By kyndarisLeave a comment

I have returned (not that many of you who may read this blog would know since I schedule my posts in advance)! So, dear reader, it won’t be long until you will be bombarded with semi-daily blog posts with my adventure overseas. Or maybe I’ll just spread it out per my usual weekly schedule. Who knows.

It’s not as if I had anything interesting to write about each day. Why, you may ask? Well, because it was primarily a visit to see distant relatives in China.

That said, I did get to enjoy quite a few sights and sounds while overseas. So, be prepared for some insights of what it’s like to travel abroad.

Anyways, hope you’ve been enjoying my short story. Here is Part 4!

It started quiet.

Like the gurgling of a babbling brook or the susurrations of the wind. At first, I ignored it. There were other things on my mind, after all.

But it grew louder and louder with each passing day.

At first, I thought it might have been Hindu. Or Indian. Or whatever it was Mrs Singh spoke. There was something guttural and throat-heavy in the intonations. Then I thought it was a bastardised version of German based on the sounds of consonants I was able to make out.

Yet even that did not seem right. Even as the voices began to become all-consuming, taking hold of my every thought.

They were like a Gregorian choir, chanting away in the background. One I could not shake though I’d turned BBC Four to its maximum volume without it bursting my eardrums.

I would even catch myself muttering the words under my breath on the odd occasion though I did not know their meaning.

It was everywhere.

Echoing in the beat of my heart. Seeping into my very soul.

Until I was naught but the words.

And the words were me…

One night, I remembered slipping into bed. Exhausted and weary. Wandering if a fresh new disaster would befall those that still remained in Strommouth.

I closed my eyes for but a second. The next moment, I was standing in a dark dank cavern in my pink night gown, feet bare. Water dripped from above, splashing down into a puddle not far from me though I could see little in the gloom. As the thought crossed my mind, an old-fashioned hooded lantern appeared in my hand.

Somewhere up ahead, I could see a flicker of something and the low murmur of voices.

Curiosity won over common sense and I hobbled towards the source of whatever light I could see in the distance. Drawn, if you will, like a moth to a flame.

The stone was damp and slimy underfoot. Perhaps if I envisaged myself in some proper shoes, they would appear?

But the dream refused to comply.

With a grimace, I continued on, keeping one hand against the walls of the cavern. Both as a support and as a guide.

As with most things in dreams, the tunnel ahead seemed to go on forever. No matter how quickly I moved, I could not seem to find the source.

On and on and on and on it went. With no end in sight.

When next I blinked, I was staring up at the ceiling of my room. My body, exhausted despite a night of what should have been restful sleep. When I finally managed to roll out of bed, there was a puddle of salt water where my slippers should have been.

It should have disturbed me.

Dreams bleeding into reality.

Yet I was not afraid. The whispering voices pounding in my ears took on a consolatory tone. As if to say there was nothing to fear. That this, too, would pass. They placated me. And I took comfort in their calm guidance, instinctively trusting their infinite wisdom.

What did it matter, after all? Strommouth was falling into ruin around me.

With each passing day, townsfolk were disappearing. Shops were shuttering. And vandals were graffitiing what was left. Or breaking in and looting what little we had.

It was easier – so much easier – to live within the dreams than it was to face the madness of the world around me.

All that I knew narrowed down into the home Greg and I had built over the long decades. For, I knew, if I were to venture beyond my door, certain death would follow.

The dreams continued.

For however long, I could not say. They were always the same. I would walk the same dank cavern, looking for the source of the light I could see and the voices I could hear.

But no matter how hard I tried, it felt like I was walking in circles. Trapped in a tortuous maze with no exit in sight and almost slipping on whatever was underfoot without my cane for support.

There were a number of times I wondered what the point of it was. Or what might happen if I should fall.

Would the voices take pity on me? Or would I disrupt whatever it was the dreams were telling me?

It should have been demoralising. Yet, each night, I pressed on.

Something was calling me to continue.

The Whispering Stars (Part 3)

On October 5, 2025August 21, 2025 By kyndarisLeave a comment

Rejoice, friends! For I have finished my short story (at time of writing up this post. By the time this is scheduled, it’ll have been a month and a bit). I may have sat my butt down during a day I had off, but it is finished! And I can enjoy my overseas trip without worry (or, at least, narrative worry. There is still my novel length fantasy story I want to finish but I know that would be impossible to wrap up in one and a half days).

Meanwhile, I’ve also finished reading Lessons in Chemistry by Bonnie Garmus. A choice made by the book club I was unceremoniously recruited into and then was simply informed it would be the book we would be reading without given much choice (or the option to vote).

But I do feel compelled to say, growing up, I’ve always felt strongly about being able to do whatever the heck I wanted without social and cultural norms of what is typically ‘feminine’ and ‘masculine’ getting in the way. In that sense, I do feel a strong attachment to Elizabeth Zott and how she goes about proving to the rest of the world she isn’t a ‘woman chemist’ but just ‘chemist.’

Even the current discourse within more open-minded circles seem to rigidly enforce a binary nature to activities or dress or jobs. And I, for one, am sick of it.

Just because I like to wear collared plaid shirts and jeans doesn’t make me ‘masc’ presenting. Nor the fact my hobbies include story-driven narrative video games and collecting a shit ton of Disney Lorcana cards. But I also like horses and musicals.

Am I femme then?

Also, no.

So, does this make me non-binary? Well, if it’s a label you want to place on me then go ahead. But for years, I’ve had to battle the prejudice of having a ‘boy’s name’ growing up. Or for simply liking real-time strategy games like Starcraft.

I am simply a human, born into a woman’s body (which I’ve come to terms with), and I contain multitudes. I can cook, clean, smash shuttlecocks on the badminton court, and write fantastical stories. Isn’t that enough?

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have important hospital administration tasks to busy myself with. Two Point Hospital has truly become all-encompassing, scratching a part of my brain that I didn’t know existed.

Children, set the table. Your mother needs a moment to herself.

Months passed.

Though time continued its inexorable march, Strommouth seemed forever trapped in a bubble of drizzling gloom.

Autumn gave way to winter and then to spring. Nothing changed.

What used to be a festive time saw most people slinking back into their homes before the sun had even set. There were no colourful lights. No countdowns to a new year.

Instead, bonfires burned through the night. Effigies, too, were sacrificed to the nameless gods. All in a desperate bid for them to be saved.

It was the start of spring. I’d heard a knock at my front door. Initially, I thought it was Stevenson. He had only just left. And, as always, he had left behind both his bottle of gin, of which he’d poured a generous amount into the tea I’d offered, and his lucky hat.

Apparently, it had been a gift from his father and had been with him through thick and thin. It had, supposedly, survived many a storm. Or so Stevenson claimed. And he’d been wearing it when he landed a monster of a pike during his younger years. There had been a photo, or so Greg and I were led to believe. But while I was doubtful of his boasts, Greg had never thought to question his friend. Rather, he had shared his own wild tale of wrestling a creature from the depths in the open seas.

Men.

What can I say?

The person at my door was not Stevenson.

Kieran, looking as officious as ever, made an attempt at smiling as he lowered his fist. No doubt he was trying to ease any concerns I may have had at his presence. Instead, he looked somewhat strained and perhaps a little constipated.

I told him that he needed to relax his face or else he’d never find anyone who wanted a stick in the mud like him. Man or woman.

His smile dropped. ‘Patrice,’ he said, tone serious. ‘If you wouldn’t mind, I have a few questions to ask you.’

‘If this is about the altercation with Mrs Singh over the weekend, I still profess my innocence. How was I supposed to know chai and tea were the same thing?’ I said. ‘This was just a silly miscommunication. I’m not racist, I assure you.’

‘Patrice, you also called her a curry breath scam artist,’ said Kieran with a suffering sigh.

‘It’s not slander if it’s true.’

Kieran gently massaged the bridge of his nose. ‘While I’m sure Mrs Singh would certainly love for me to throw the book at you in terms of a hate crime Patrice, I’m not here to clap you in irons. At least, not yet.’

‘You aren’t?’

‘No. I just have some questions. If you don’t mind.’

‘Fine,’ I said, leaving the door open and hobbled to the living room where I entertained all my guests.

There was nothing special about it. The wallpaper was a tasteful rose colour with a floral pattern that ran through the centre. A battered upholstered couch sat against the far wall with an armchair seated opposite. In between was a low table. On it sat my favourite silver tray along with a teapot and two of my finest Royal Albert cups that I had yet to tidy away. Stevenson’s bottle of gin was also out for display.

Along the walls were photos of me and Greg. Happy moments, captured frozen in time.

One was of our wedding. Another, a day out at a proper beach when we visited Australia sometime in the late 90s. Bronte, I think it was called. It was a short jaunt from the famous Bondi. Although why it was named after the Bronte sisters remained a mystery.

Kieran took it all in before he sat down in the armchair and pulled out a notepad. He flipped to a page midway through and then turned to look at me expectantly.

With an irritated huff, I hobbled over to the couch and sank down into it and tried to make myself comfortable. I’d never much liked the couch. Greg and I had purchased it during a garage sale decades ago. And though I’d wanted to throw it out at the turn of the millennium, he had been very ardent about keeping it.

The things I did for my Greg…

I was pulled from my reminiscence as Kieran cleared his throat in what I could only describe as an aggressively rude manner. As if he had asked me a question multiple times and I had not answered.

Plastering a sickly-sweet smile to my lips, I cocked my heads towards him. ‘Sorry, what was that again?’

‘Bjorn,’ he said curtly. ‘When was the last time you saw him?’

‘Sunday last,’ I replied. ‘At the markets. Though I didn’t much want to linger.’

‘Did you speak to him?’

‘Not really.’

Kieran arched an eyebrow, waiting for me to elaborate. I hated how well he used silence against me.

‘He was recruiting for the Sons of Deimos,’ I said finally. ‘Even after everything they’d done to me and mine, he joined up with the enemy. I understand times are hard in Strommouth but this was like a slap to my face. So, no. We aren’t exactly on speaking terms.’

‘When you said “After everything they’d done to me and mine,” did you mean what happened to Greg?’ asked Kieran.

I stared Kieran in the eye without replying. Two could play this game, I thought viciously. Besides, it had been his colleague who had held me as I broke down with the picture of my dead husband clutched in my hands.

Kieran was the first to break. He fidgeted uncomfortably, glancing back down at his notebook and flipped to the next page. ‘Was there anything else that passed between the two of you?’

‘No,’ I said.

‘Are you certain, Patrice? We have testimony—’

‘Do I need to call my lawyer?’ I said, interrupting Kieran. ‘What’s going on? Why am I being interrogated as if I’ve done something terrible?’

‘I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say,’ answered Kieran. He closed his notepad and rose to his feet. ‘Thank you for being so accommodating, Patrice. I apologise for coming at such a late hour. Another officer of the precinct may visit you in the coming days for a few follow-up questions.’

He headed towards the door.

‘Hang on a second,’ I said as I also tried to jump to my feet. I failed. The couch was like a vacuum, desperate to keep me seated, but I was undaunted. Fury lent me strength. I succeeded on my third try and grabbed my walking stick that was resting nearby, bringing it swinging down to prevent Kieran from escaping. ‘You don’t get to come barging into my home and start making aspersions against my good name, Kieran. Don’t forget, I remember when you were still a little shit running around town and causing havoc. I still have the receipts, young man. So, out with it. What’s going on?’

Kieran looked askance. He scratched at the peach fuzz on his chin. It seemed like he was trying to grow a proper beard though he hadn’t had much luck.

After a beat, he finally said, ‘We’re looking to establish a timeline. Bjorn’s gone missing, Patrice. Since the day before yesterday.’

‘And you think—’ I left the rest unsaid, one hand coming up to rest against my throat.

Bjorn was not the first to disappear. Nor would he be the last.

But unlike the others – a few tourists and those who lived on the fringes of society – his was noticeable. The two of us may not have gotten along once he joined up with the Sons of Deimos, yet even I could not deny what he had done for Strommouth.

For the community.

Days passed. Weeks. Still there was no word.

And then someone else went missing. Constance.

Daughter of the pastor, she was a local schoolteacher. A woman of few words, she kept mostly to herself. Only venturing as far as Main Street to do her shopping. Especially after the scandal several years back when she had been fraternising with another woman. Her father almost had an aneurysm when he found out.

Months later, Constance settled down with the woman. A pastry chef by the name of Lenore. They lived in a little cottage on the edge of town. Caring not for the opinions of the closeminded.

Then it was Abernathy.

Gail.

Eunice.

Sean.

By then, proper panic had seized those in Strommouth. Many debated on whether they ought to leave and start anew in some other part of the country even though they could ill afford it. I, too, flirted with the idea. Despite what I had told Nicholas all those months ago.

But I also knew I had nowhere to go. Who, in their right mind, would take in an elderly crippled woman of my tender years?

I had no other family besides those who had come before.

The life I lived; everything I’d ever known – all of it had been in Strommouth.

In the end, after much debate and weighing up what money I had, I chose to remain and face the possibility of the end with my head held high.

That was, until, Bjorn’s bodiless head washed up on the shore of a nearby pebble beach.

Stevenson stumbled upon it in the early hours of the morning. After one too many bottles of hard liquor. He described it as looking like a deflated football, once I’d managed to parse through his drunken ramblings. The skin, he said, was wan and pale. Bjorn’s eyes wide and glassy.

Besides these observations, there had also been chunks of flesh still dangling on the neck though some had been nibbled up by fish or crustaceans.

According to him, it looked like Bjorn’s head had been roughly ripped off. By what, he could not say. He had been too busy retching. Something I wholeheartedly believed from the dry stain adorning his ratty shirt.

‘We need to leave, Patrice,’ Stevenson had said. ‘Strommouth? It’s finished. There’s nothing for us here.’

‘And go where? With what money? I can’t sell the house. No one in their right mind would buy it.’

‘Listen. I have a sister in Perth. She could take us in for a couple of weeks. Until we find our feet.’

I mulled over his words, letting my imagination run wild for a few precious moments. Then, I let out a heavy sigh. ‘You say it like it’s easy. Didn’t you hear about what happened to the Blairs?’

Stevenson began to shake his head before he stopped. His eyes were wide, the whites visible. ‘It won’t be like that,’ he promised.

‘How do you know?’

He was silent for a moment, teeth worrying his bottom lip. ‘I’ll think of something.’

The next day, Stevenson was found dead. Hanged from the old oak tree overlooking the town. Officer Kieran ruled it a suicide when he came to visit me. I tried to contest it.

After all, why would a man intent on escaping Strommouth kill himself the day after making plans? I said as much to Kieran. But the constable merely shrugged his shoulders.

‘I don’t know what goes on in people’s heads, Patrice. Maybe finding Bjorn’s head spooked him. God knows Strommouth isn’t what it used to be. But we’re trying.’

He bid me goodbye and I bid him good luck.

We both knew nothing could save our town.

The attacks were random. Unpredictable. No one knew who was going to be next.

And then it all came to a head when Nicholas disappeared.

The Whispering Stars (Part 2)

On September 26, 2025August 15, 2025 By kyndarisLeave a comment

As before, I’m not very good at keeping things under wraps. But I also like to think I’m just excited for what I think might make for a killer short story. Hubris, of course, comes before the fall.

That said, at time of scheduling this post, I’ve still yet to finish it up. So, there’s no telling if I’ll stick the landing of the story.

Of course, I do have a rough image of how I want it to proceed. Here’s hoping I manage to finish it before my big trip overseas! How exciting! And, if not, I still have some leeway to have it done afterwards. The magic of scheduling my blog posts.

Then, of course, there’s been the new fantasy novel I’ve been working on. Will it ever get properly published? Only the gods can say.

On a completely unrelated side note, I started playing Two Point Hospital. Who knew I’d find management simulator video games so addicting? It doesn’t exactly have a story to pull me through and yet I can’t bring myself to stop.

Though, now that I think on it, I probably should have seen the signs. Look no further to the minigames in the Like a Dragon franchise, and the hours I spent, for an equivalent.

Now, if only I could shake this addiction to cardboard crack. Although, given how I only ever really limit myself to only ONE booster box for each set of Disney Lorcana, can it truly be called an addiction?

Still bothers me I can’t get a full set though.

But I do have a few Enchanted cards. Including Ursula and Mufasa.

The first sign people took note of were the thousands upon thousands of dead fish that washed up on our shores at the height of the season. At first, we assumed it was climate change or some new chemicals entering the waterways. Humans were always finding new ways to fuck the world over.

But Stevenson, taking the biscuit I offered as we sat down for tea, claimed to have seen the fish leap out of the water.

As if they were trying to escape from something down in the deep. Preferring instead to suffocate on air.

I dismissed it, of course.

Who could believe such outlandish stories? Especially from Stevenson? The man who had never once been sober. Even when he was out on the job.

He may have been Greg’s best friend, but he had a penchant for embellishing things for the sake of a good story. And I had been burned one too many times believing his lies.

That was, until, the body showed up.

Bjorn described it as a bloated mishmash of human and fish physiology. It had webbed fingers and toes, big bulbous eyes, long oversized arms with fins jutting out at the elbows, and a simian looking face. To my ears, it sounded like a hideous monstrous thing. Like a creation from a gothic science fiction novel.

From whence it came, none could say.

Several of the townsfolk thought it was a terrible prank gone wrong. The youth of today, in particular, were obsessed with all things American, they said. Including the celebration of Halloween.

According to them, it was naught but a costumed suit somebody had bought from the big cities. Bored university students, they claimed, who wanted to spice up the tranquil nature of a seaside town like Strommouth.

But then a second and a third body started showing up.

A pattern was starting to emerge though none could explain it. Even the local coroner was at wit’s end to provide a satisfying conclusive statement.

In a bid of desperation, specialists were called in from all over the country.

News spread.

For three whole weeks, as summer gave way to autumn, Strommouth became the centre of the world. Reporters came pouring in. Their cameras pointed at the pebbled beaches, the dilapidated fishing ships and, on the rare occasion, main street.

Watching them flock in, like gulls on hot chips, had filled many of the townsfolk with disgust. Me, included.

Nicholas, when I paid him a visit at Leanne’s old place – one which she bequeathed to him in the latest iteration of her will – had seemed ill at ease with all the attention. We had gotten closer though we were far from being friends of any description.

By then, he had taken to wearing black. Black shoes. Black trousers. Black shirt. Black coat.

‘Vultures,’ he said, looking out the window. ‘The lot of them.’ He had drawn the curtains before turning back to face me in the living room. ‘Tea, Patrice?’

‘I’m surprised you’ve chosen to stay.’

He had laughed before picking up the teapot and pouring me a cup. He passed it to me before pouring out his own. ‘Where else would I go? My parents are dead. My wife is dead. There’s nothing for me in this world anymore.’

‘You’re still young, Nicky boy. The world is your oyster. You could start over again.’

‘If that’s the case, Patrice, I choose Strommouth.’

An impolite snort burst past my lips. ‘I know you feel obliged, but Leanne didn’t leave you everything just for you to waste away in a backwater town like this,’ I said, not unkindly. I picked up the tea cup and took a sip before nearly gagging. The blasted man had served me peppermint. ‘Young strapping man like you ought to be heading to the cities and dreaming big.’

Silence greeted my words.

‘You really don’t think I have a future here in Strommouth?’ Nicholas finally asked.

‘Look around,’ I said, placing the cup back on its saucer. ‘This town of ours is dying. You don’t want to be trapped in a place too small to even fit on a map. Believe you me. Then, of course, there’s those devil worshippers going round. Scaring folks.’

‘Do you mean the Sons of Deimos?’

‘Who cares,’ I said with a huff. ‘Starts with a “D” don’t it? And they’ve been nothing but trouble. If you know what’s good for you, Nicky, you’ll stay away from them.’

Nicholas took up his own cup, pausing only a brief moment to take in the aroma, and drank a hearty mouthful. I watched as he grimaced before placing the cup back down.

Clearly the peppermint had been Leanne’s.

‘If Strommouth is as bad as you say, why don’t you or the others leave?’

My answer was immediate. ‘It’s my home, innit? Besides, I’m not getting any younger. Strommouth, despite its faults, is where I’ve lived for all my life. And I can’t go leaving my Greg all alone.’

He mulled over my words as I, unwisely, took another sip of the peppermint tea he had served. It had been steeped for far too long and I was tempted to ask if he had something more respectable. Like Earl Grey or Lancashire.

‘This might be odd of me to say, Patrice, but I feel similarly,’ said Nicholas, hands interlinked in front of him. ‘I’ve travelled to every continent. Seen almost everything the world has to show someone. It was one of my dreams, you see. But it all changed when Agnes and I paid a visit to the Nazca Lines in Peru.’

‘I’m sensing a story here.’

Nicholas looked up at me, his eyes seeming to flash with a sickly green light. ‘Lying there, under the stars, my wife in my arms, it was the first time I heard the stars whisper to me.’ He dipped his head back down. Gaze focused on some whorl on Leanne’s kitchen table. ‘It’s the same with Strommouth. There’s something about this place. It calls to me.’

‘Surely—’

‘Am I going crazy?’ he exclaimed, rising to his feet, eyes flashing.

The outburst came as a surprise. In his haste, he had knocked over his cup of tea and spilled the peppermint all over the table. There was a wild look in his eyes. One I could only describe as something akin to terror.

The sight pulled at my heartstrings. Nicholas was usually so composed.

I reached out a hand to calm him (he just looked so lost. Like the son I never knew) before thinking better of it. What could I offer him anyways?

Not comfort. At least in the way it would have mattered.

And certainly not warmth.

The two of us were worlds apart as the silence between grew heavier and thick.

Seconds crawled by, turning into minutes. I glanced over to the drawn curtains, looking for inspiration. ‘They’ll be gone soon,’ I said, nodding towards the windows beyond. ‘Strommouth is just a novelty to them. By next week, it’ll be back to the same old news cycle. Everything will go back to how it was.’

He seemed to take solace in those words as he took several deep breaths before sitting back down. ‘You’re probably right, Patrice.’

It was the last time we would speak so casually and so frankly.

Over the years, I have often wondered if perhaps there was more I could have done. Whether my choice of restraint had been a mistake. Common sense told me any hope Nicholas would have stopped of his own accord was a fallacy. The path he walked was predetermined. If I had laid a hand on him that day, my own life would have been drained away.

And yet, a voice remained in the back of my mind. ‘What if?’

Just as I predicted, the strange bodies were quickly buried the next week following sensational headlines of a serial killer stalking the halls of a London hospital. National attention shifted and Strommouth became, once more, the quaint seaside town it always had been.

More bodies, however, continued to wash up on our shores. Most were half-eaten. Some still looked human while others had fish-like features that defied scientific explanation.

But who they were and where they came from remained a mystery.

Terror began to seize the heart of the good people of Strommouth. Locals like Bjorn and Abernathy took to drink, whereas others like Gail, the pharmacist, and Kiernan, one of the constables, started viewing everyone with suspicion. Paranoia had permeated our closeknit society, turning neighbours into foes.

The Sons of Deimos only made it worse. They knocked on doors, passed out pamphlets and tried to proselytise their beliefs in the town centre. For too long, we had placed our faith in false idols, they said. To them, Christianity was a pretty lie. As were the other religions of the world.

If we truly wanted to be saved, we had to turn our mind to the stars above and the Gods hidden beyond the veil.

Just like Nicholas, they spoke of the whispers they had heard.

But whereas Nicholas had feared he was going mad, the Sons of Deimos only seemed to lean further into the welcoming abyss. To anyone who would give them a modicum of time, they spoke of a rapturous ascension to a new plane of existence. Of a prophecy that foretold the destruction of the world and the signs of its eminent arrival.

As if scientists hadn’t already put us about a minute away from midnight.

Yet, in Strommouth, with the Sons of Deimos right at our doors, some listened and took up the mantle. First it was Abernathy. Then Gail.

Even Bjorn, stalwart in the face of disaster, began to believe.

I watched it all unfurl from between the four walls of my house as the darkness crept in, taking the heart and soul of our town.

The Endless Now

On September 19, 2025August 8, 2025 By kyndarisLeave a comment

I played the first Dragon’s Dogma when it initially released in 2012. My time with it was memorable. Both from a combat perspective, where I would climb over monsters to lop off their tails or various limbs, and from a narrative standpoint. Especially when the opening had my poor fisherman have his heart plucked out by the giant claw of a giant fire-breathing behemoth! But though I was tempted to pick up the revamped version known as Dark Arisen, I restrained myself. After all, I’d already enjoyed my fill.

Imagine my surprise, then, that twelve years later Dragon’s Dogma 2 would come marching on to the scene. Tempting me back into a world of dark fantasy where we, the players, must rise up and slay the dragon haranguing the good people of the two countries: Vermund and Battahl.

Was it any wonder I’d pre-order the game?

Unfortunately, as with many games that released in 2024, it sat in my backlog. Waiting.

When I finally booted the game up, however, a part of me was disappointed. Though Dragon’s Dogma 2 gave me much of the same tried and true formula that made the original shine, the latest entry seemed to have lost much of its lustre. Perhaps I had overhyped it in my head, but I felt the narrative beats were less than impactful. And despite the big draw on exploration, much of the world still felt empty. Much like The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom did.

It did not help the map was as large as it was – with two countries to traverse – and a paper-thin plot to provide impetus. Like Hogwarts Legacy before it, a lot of the strength in the storytelling of Dragon’s Dogma 2 came from its sidequests. Notably, the ones revolving around Wilhelmina and Ulrika. But beyond these it was hard to gauge why my character was bothering to tangle themselves in the political machinations of the Queen Regent and the false Sovran (other than he was a Sovran).

This lack of motivation even pursued me when exploring the world. Most of the caves and dungeons only had the occasional items to string me along that quickly became obsolete once I’d got to the next settlement. It did not help there were so many scattered in close proximity across the map. With weight and inventory management to keep in mind, I had to be more selective in what I retained in my pack and what I handed off to the pawns in my party.

But back to the narrative.

Dragon’s Dogma 2 begins with a cutscene of a crowning of the new Sovran of Vermund. It then cuts to your character emerging from a cell – supposedly a pawn among many – to work in a mine. It is here players are able to customise their Arisen to their heart’s content. As I’m not one to spend countless hours, my character was a tall beastren who I thought looked fairly attractive. I’m sure others on the internet have managed to create or recreate far more iconic looks. During my playthrough, I do remember seeing versions of Kratos from God of War and Geralt of Rivia from The Witcher (fun fact, my work book club chose The Last Wish a few months back and it got one of my colleagues enraptured with Andrzej Sapkowski’s world). Unfortunately, I don’t have the patience, or the skill, to customise my character to such a degree.

Nor my pawn for that matter.

But I like to think my short king Jhorin, with his red hair and moustache, was beloved by those who encountered him during their own travails.

Once I’d gotten through the daunting character customisation screen, Dragon’s Dogma 2 thrust me into its tutorial as the Arisen stumbled about hauling stone from the mine. However, before I could even think to rest, the mine is attacked by a gorgon. After its fended off, a pawn takes the player character aside and encourages them to flee. The overseer and guards try to stop it but the Arisen leaps off from a cliff, landing atop a griffin and is flown up and away.

Cue the title of the game.

It isn’t long, however, that the griffin is shot down though by Ulrika atop a ballista in the town of Melve. After heading over to the settlement, we, as the Arisen, are tasked to head to Vernworth and take our place as the rightful Sovran. After, of course, we receive a flashback to our past where we were a soldier stationed at Melve and had our heart plucked out by the dragon.

How we ended up at the mines in Battahl is not properly answered. Nor is the amnesia. According to a reddit thread, the opening scenes point to a plot during the opening cutscene.

But if this was the case, why did so many not recognise us?

I think a part of me assumed the opening cutscene was simply a vision of the future or the crowning of the fake Sovran as a means to throw us. Though, of course, I could be wrong.

When we do, however arrive om Vernworth, news of another claimant reaches our ears. One installed by the Queen Regent Disa in a plot to maintain her hold on the throne. Much like the family of stewards in Gondor. Except, of course, Denethor is replaced by Disa and she only has one son (not two. So Sven will never have to deal with ever being second best. Faramir, I still love you!). With the help of Captain Brant, we are tasked with uncovering the truth.

Along the way, we find whispers of an item that can control pawns: the Godsway. As the Hero of the tale, the Arisen crosses the border into Battahl to investigate the rumours. Before too long, however, the Arisen is called back to Vermund to investigate a mysterious shrine. It is here they are given the Godsbane Blade from Rothais, former Arisen and founder of Vermund, who, much likes Lord Phaesus of Battahl (and is in cahoots with Disa) wishes to break the cycle they are trapped in.

Godsbane Blade in hand, the Arisen then goes after Lord Phaesus. When they reach Moonglint Tower, Phaesus summons a lesser dragon. The real dragon emerges before presenting the Arisen a choice of sacrificing their most precious person or a fight to their death.

But while guides and even the online synopsis said I would need to fight the Dragon first, I was able to use the Godsbane Blade during this earlier moment and plunge into the Unmoored World for the true ending and the breaking of the cycle.

And break the cycle I did. For who would wish to live a life that has already been scripted and played out countless times?

It was here the narrative truly took hold, reminding me of the choice at the end of Xenoblade Chronicles 3. Of allowing us to be caught in the fear of the unknown or simply breaking out and letting the world play out even with the threat of annihilation. And just like Noah and Mio, we, the players, choose to take a gamble on a new way.

Certainly, the ending felt hopeful as people looked to the start of a new day without having to deal with the threat of the Dragons and the chosen Arisen.

Did it land with any impact? Not really. As I said before, none of the characters truly stood out. Most felt like bit players in a grand play (harkening, I suppose, to the ending song) where the Arisen is the Hero to a dying world. Perhaps if my player spoke or had more choice in how they went about what ailed the world, I might have formed a more intrinsic connection.

As it is, I could only really focus on the superficial. The graphics and the soundtrack were both lovely to behold. As were the monsters I brought low.

Like its predecessor, combat takes centre stage in Dragon’s Dogma 2. But what stood out to me was how easy it was to change vocations for the Arisen and experiment with different playstyles. Though I primarily only played as a thief and assassin in the first, in Dragon’s Dogma 2, I played a wide variety of vocations. From Fighter to Warrior to Magick Archer and Mystic Spearhand. All brought something unique to the field – helping me ease my journey in the 60 hours or so it took me to finally bring the game to a close.

That said, I would have liked a dedicated block or dodge button for all vocations rather than have R1 be specialised depending on what you selected. During my first fight with the gorgon at the mine, I kept scratching my head at why I couldn’t dodge out of the way of the telegraphed attacks as a fighter. Instead, I was only able to jump or run around in circles.

The only vocation that COULD dodge was the thief. And while thieves are my preferred class when it comes to role-playing games, I’d wanted to try my hand at something different.

Still, having to learn the special abilities of each of the vocations and how they synergised together was an interesting aspect to the game. Certainly, I had a preferred pawn party set-up: someone to draw aggro, a mage to keep me healed and to enchant my weapons with specific elemental damage, and a DPS to deal additional damage.

With all that said, there is much to love about Dragon’s Dogma 2. And yet, a part of me still feels there was a lot of potential that was wasted. Perhaps if the developers had worked a little more on the scripting for the main narrative, I might have been more intrigued by the goings-on within the world I was presented. Yet despite the little moments, like getting a cyclops to trip and extend over as a bridge or riding a griffin across open water, playing through Dragon’s Dogma 2 still felt more chore than joy. Especially when it came to the innumerable small caves dotted around in the environment.

While there were teases of something a little meatier – at least in terms of beastren and pawn discrimination – if more focus was placed on a compelling narrative, I feel like Dragon’s Dogma 2 could have soared to much loftier heights. As it is though, it failed to truly capture my imagination and bring me to care for the world as well as its characters.

I mean, the world had so many FORMER Arisen.

There was so much potential ready to be unearthed!

On a side note, given I’d played the game a year late, I never had to deal with Dragonsplague. None of the pawns I hired had it and my own pawn never returned from beyond the Rift with red eyes or an overly aggressive attitude.

The Whispering Stars (Part 1)

On September 12, 2025August 2, 2025 By kyndarisLeave a comment

You know the feeling when you finish writing a story and somehow want to write more? That’s what happened at the end of and a mind to its undoing. I can’t say why the Cthulhu mythos grabs my attention so but almost immediately, I had the first scene for a sequel story in my head, begging to be written.

And you know what?

I gave in.

At time of writing up this post, I haven’t quite yet finished the short story. But since I haven’t finished Dragon’s Dogma 2 and I’m struggling to think up new poignant philosophical musings, I’ve made the executive decision to upload my new cosmic horror/ occult horror/ Cthulhu mythos short story up in parts!

How’s that for decisive action and strategic thinking my corporate overlords! Bet you’re pissing yourselves now since you chose not to give me a promotion!

(I jest. Please don’t fire me. I need the money to feed my new Disney Lorcana addiction!)

Anywho, without further ado, here is the first part of: The Whispering Stars. I hope all you dear readers enjoy (though, by the time this post goes live, there’s a very high probability I’ll have finished the short story and have uploaded it to my FictionPress and Wattpad account. And no, I don’t care for art collaborations or comic commissions. Can people stop? If you want to do fanart, go for it. And if you want to loop me in, let me know. I’d greatly appreciate it.)

A shadow fell over Strommouth the day he had come stumbling through, buck naked as the day he was born. The man’s name was Nicholas. He had a faded red scar across his neck and half-healed stab wounds to his chest when he first arrived on that overcast day in the middle of summer.

There was something odd about him from the very start (his lack of clothing notwithstanding). Striking blue eyes and a mop of curly blond hair, he might have been considered a catch if I were but thirty years younger and he hadn’t been raving about his dead parents and a dark ritual in a secret cave.

When Bjorn, the local mechanic, had volunteered to help, Nicholas had appeared grateful beyond measure as he pointed towards the path leading down to the shoreline.

Big and strong, Bjorn rounded up two others and they had vanished in the direction Nicholas had indicated.

Yet upon their return, they reported finding nothing.

Nicholas had sat on Leanne’s porch, a portly woman who had lost her husband only a year ago, with only a silver emergency thermal blanket wrapped around him to conceal his modesty and to warm him, as he took the information in. Something within him seemed to die at the news, his eyes turning glassy.

Leanne, the bleeding heart that she was, invited him to stay with her. She kept one firm hand pressed tightly on Nicholas’s back as she led him into her house.

And though I questioned her motives (to my husband over a steamed pot roast, thank you very much. I’m not the town gossip most people think I am), there was naught for it. The poor man had clearly suffered something tragic and needed a place to stay. At least for a few nights as he got his bearings.

Yet what should have been three or four days turned into a week. Then two. Before we knew it, months had passed. And still he lingered.

Even after his purported wife washed up on the beach twenty miles from town three weeks after he had first arrived. Her bloated corpse smelled terrible. Her clothes were in tatters and fish had nibbled at both her fingers and toes.

When her body was found, her eyes had been closed. As if she had welcomed death. There was something almost peaceful about it, even though her general mien was a mess. Especially with the grey streaks in her flyaway hair.

Her name was Agnes. At least, according to Nicholas, as he had held her body in his arms.

But there had been no tears as he rocked with her in the morgue.

Leanne had been the one to finally part them. And if there had been something a little too intimate in the way they acted around each other, who were the rest of Strommouth to judge?

Yet with each passing day, as summer turned to autumn, dark clouds began to gather. Unknown terrors stalked down the main street after nightfall. Ones even the local constabulary could not put a stop to. After all, it wasn’t anything tangible so much as a feeling in the air.

Not keen to linger, almost all the shopkeepers around town closed up hours before dark, eager to return to their homes. Those who lived within spitting distance of the town centre, though, could often be seen peeking through their blinds, waiting to see what might transpire.

People started to disappear. Mostly tourists.

There were whispered rumours, too, of strange creatures emerging from the sea. Or of a serial killer.

None could make up their minds.

A new cult began knocking door to door, handing out pamphlets. Though I usually dismissed such things, Greg, my husband, thought it would be worthwhile to attend one of their townhall meetings. Told me it was better to get on top of these things than to let them fester.

It was the last time I saw him. In his grey parka, faded yellow overalls and dark green wellies.

His body was found behind the local pub the following day. He had been stabbed multiple times and half his face looked like it had been melted off. At least, according to the bobby who knocked on my door.

She was a short stout woman. Hair tied up into a messy bun. There was a missing button on her uniform. One she had yet to notice if the state of her muddy boots were any indication.

Her face was wiped blank of any emotion as she dispassionately delivered the news. Perhaps she expected me to break down. And while I did love Greg with all my heart, a numbness had crept over me.

None of it seemed real.

It seemed impossible to me that he was gone. My big strong Greg with his stupid yellow overalls and goofy grin.

In our younger years, we had tried for children but none had taken fruit. Though we did consider adoption, in the end, it was not to be. Our lives were busy enough as it was. And the two of us managed to find joy in even the smallest of moments.

To think it had been ripped away from me in a sudden act of violence?

No.

I could not believe it.

I refused to believe it.

Until they showed me his photograph.

The funeral was a relatively small affair with only about six attendees. One of those being Nicholas. The other Leanne. But whereas Nicholas looked hale and hearty, his cheeks filling in nicely, Leanne was pale. Dark smudges underscored her eyes and her hair looked brittle.

We didn’t speak though they did offer me their condolences.

Greg was buried in the family lot in the cemetery, next to his parents.

Despite the solemn event, it was the first time Strommouth enjoyed a proper sunny day after weeks of drizzle. Maybe it was God shining down on my Greg. Or perhaps it was simply a cosmic joke to bless a day of grief with light.

It didn’t matter.

All I cared about was that my Greg had finally been put to rest.

The wake was held at our home. Food and drink were aplenty for the small gathering. I’d procured two kegs of beer and had requested three platters of canapes.

Nicholas and Leanne had not come. Something I did not notice until Stevenson, as I was packing up, pointed it out to me. He was one of Greg’s closest friends. A fellow fisherman and occasional drinking partner at the local pub; drinking and chatting to the early hours of the morn.

At first, I thought nothing of it. I had never been particularly close to Leanne. Even when Henrik had been alive. And Nicholas was a wild card. Despite his unfortunate circumstances, there was something about him that sat uneasy with me.

But as the weeks, and months, passed, perhaps I should have been more concerned.

Especially when it came to Leanne.

If I knew then what I know now, I wonder if I would have seen the signs if I had checked up on her more. Or if, maybe, her fate was preordained and nothing I did would have made a difference.

She died in the middle of winter.

I remember glancing into her open casket – courtesy of Nicholas – and saw her shrivelled up body and sunken cheeks. Not even the make-up had been able to bring out the life and colour of who she had been. And the clothes they had picked out for her seemed ill-fittingly large for her small petite frame.

He had come up behind him then. Footsteps as soft and quiet like those of a cat.

That should have been the second sign not all was quite right with Nicholas.

‘Thank you for coming, Patrice. I know these last few months have been hard on you.’

‘It’s the least I can do,’ I said, trying to be polite. ‘She came to farewell my Greg and I feel it would be best to return the favour. Strommouth is small as it is and we’ve known each other for quite a long time.’

‘Nevertheless, I’m sure she appreciates the effort,’ said Nicholas. He hesitated for a brief moment, worrying his lower lip with his teeth, before continuing, ‘You know, she spoke about you. A lot.’

‘Nothing good, I assume.’

Nicholas had cocked his head to the side. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘Oh, where to begin.’ I looked back at her, seemingly asleep in the casket, then turned back to Nicholas. ‘Leanne and I, we grew up together. Same school. Same grade. Though we were never close. She had her group of friends and I had mine. Always circling each other, we were.’

‘Your peers still in Strommouth?’

I snorted. ‘Hardly. Unlike Leanne and I, they had the brains to move to the bigger cities. Aberdeen. Glasgow. Edinburgh. Only a few of us stayed. And out of those who did, not everyone got to reach the ripe age of 64.’

Like the polite boy he was, Nicholas made a show of gaping at me in disbelief. ’64? Surely not, Patrice. You look no older than 40.’ Though I kept my face solemn (given we were still at a funeral, and right in front of Leanne’s casket), I could not help but preen at his comment. It might be a lie, but it was the first time in a long while since I had someone compliment me so unabashedly. I could see why Leanne had been smitten with him.

‘Don’t you try to butter me up, Nicky boy,’ I said sternly. Nicholas looked away and nervously rubbed the back of his head. ‘Now, where was I? Oh, yes. My rocky relationship with Leanne. Well, it all started in ’86. Both of us had our eye on my Gregory. The two of us competed for his attention constantly. He was the most strapping man of Strommouth back then. I won out, of course, and she’s never been able to live it down.’

‘What happened then?’

‘We married in the summer, Greg and I. That was when Leanne met her husband. Son of the local bookkeeper. And the rest, they say, is history. We would meet on the odd occasion, maybe chat a little about the weather, but never anything too detailed. As I said, we were never quite friends. So, I’m surprised she would speak about me with any regard at all.’

‘Well, you’re not wrong there,’ said Nicholas. ‘But she did tell me how sorry she felt about all the miscarriages. And the rumours that had been flying about a few years back. People can be cruel.’

To say I was surprised was an understatement. I glanced back at the still body of Leanne, lying in her casket as if she had nary a care in her world. And most likely, she didn’t. Dead as she was.

At the time, I did not realise just how lucky she would be.

Though none of us knew it then, something otherworldly had lain its touch on our small seaside town. Disaster and ill omens would follow in its wake.

Perhaps it would have been better if I had done as both my dear Greg and poor Leanne did. God knew they were much smarter than me.

Instead, I remained behind and bore witness to the horrors that would soon be unleashed upon us.

Romantic Flight

On September 5, 2025July 25, 2025 By kyndarisLeave a comment

Weddings. There’s always something special about them. Be it the corny vows or the speeches written mostly to detail embarrassing anecdotes of someone’s life. Being a veteran of quite a few (where my many friends find happiness with their special someone), I can say with confidence that they are days of joy and celebration where two halves of a whole are brought together and officially joined in matrimony. There is laughter; there are tears. But what matters most is the connection between like-minded souls.

Shelldrake’s union with her longtime beau: Carrick Snipes (don’t worry, these are all pseudonyms they use online. And no. They aren’t furries. At least, I don’t think they are) was held on a warm Sunday in the middle of winter (remember, dear reader, I live in the southern hemisphere. This means the wedding was held in July). The ceremony was scheduled to start at 2:30 PM. And while the groom fretted, the minutes slowly slipped away. It was only until 2:50 PM that the celebrant brought our attention back to the front with a declaration the event was underway.

Cue the entrance of the flower girl, our longtime friend from high school, Shien Akari (also not their real name), slaying in a dress and heels (and for those who don’t know, which is probably a vast number of readers who don’t actually know me personally, Shien is a cisgender man). Once he stood to the side, the bridesmaids waltzed down the aisle in style before taking their places.

Then, it was time for the bride. Shelldrake, escorted by her father, slowly made her way down – stopping briefly when the train of her veil caught on something near the entrance – before making her way down to stand before her husband to be.

Since neither of the two were religious (or were agnostic), there was little in pomp and ceremony. Shelldrake and Snipes exchanged their vows, with a few little asides to all those in attendance and quite a few happy joyous waterworks, before being announced as husband and wife.

Once the official side of things was over, group photos were taken and we were given some free time to while away before the official start of the reception. Not willing to sit around for nigh on two hours, me and a few of the other guests traipsed to the local shopping centre. Though I had intended to buy new shoes, I didn’t want to lose the group and so accompanied them down to the food court.

It wasn’t long before we had to return to the venue. That said, I did manage to buy myself a few booster packs for Disney Lorcana (like the collectible card crack whore I am).

By then, there was still approximately half an hour to the reception. So, of course, being a friend of the bride, I found her ensconced in the room the hotel had provided where she could rest and fix her makeup. We chatted for a few minutes. She told me the other bridesmaids were practicing for something during the reception. Then gestured to the two Pikachus sitting on the window sill along with two controllers. I showed off my cards and then tried to give her my hong bao (as is tradition) before being told they had a wishing well (which I later inserted the hong bao though I did forget to put my name on it).

With fifteen minutes to go, I headed back out and chatted with a few of the other guests (friends of Shelldrake and Snipes I’d met before and often played board games with).

It wasn’t long before we were allowed inside and offered a slew of canapes. Just before 7 PM, we were seated inside the Estate Room where the reception began. Entrees, mains and dessert were offered. Between it speeches were given, games were played (I did very poorly during the trivia) and people filled out the guest book.

And though I tried to catch both the Pusheen (thrown by the bride in lieu of her bouquet) and the D20 (thrown by the groom), I was unable to catch either. A disappointing state of affairs though not as bad as Snipes’s attempt to start a Pathfinder campaign. One where all the players have already created their characters and just need to arrange a date and time to commence.

The first dance was at 10 PM. To my surprise, Shelldrake and Snipes danced to Celestial by Ed Sheeran. Though, truth be told, perhaps I should not have been. Shelldrake has always liked her Pokemon. Rather, I’d thought they’d dance to something from How to Train Your Dragon. Still, at least we did get to hear strains of it as a piano arrangement when we were waiting for the ceremony to begin.

But while I’ll admit previous weddings had me feeling a tad bit morose and lonely, after my dating adventurers during the last two years I didn’t feel all that terrible I’m single. Would it be nice to have a life companion? Why, yes. I think I would.

Yet, if I were to get married?

A frightening prospect because I don’t know who I’d have to serve as my own bridesmaids. Bleachpanda might make a good candidate but I feel like she might refuse. Mostly because I don’t think she’d want to make any speeches. So, perhaps a friend from work? Or maybe I’d trot out Rinbeti and Shelldrake once again (though they’ve been bridesmaids to many a wedding).

Though, if I’m being honest, I feel like I’m more inclined to just elope.

Would make things simpler and easier without all the grandiose postering. That said, the soundtrack to my wedding would probably be filled with original soundtracks from video games and movies. And I would REALLY like to dance to Valse di Fantastica. But given the popularity of Kpop Demon Hunters, it may just be: This is what it sounds like. Or Golden.

Food for thought.

But first, I’d need to find someone who would actually look at me twice. Then maybe a third or fourth time.

For now, I’ll simply enjoy my life as it comes.

And that’s all I can really do. No point in rushing into a grand commitment I’m probably not ready for at this stage.

Unless, I suppose it’s Caitlyn and Vi. Or, I dunno, Garrus. He is one sexy turian.

Sorry. What were we talking about again?