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Anthartreoris woke slowly. Cautiously. His eyes slipped open and he turned his head to look and make sure that he was alone. No one immediately leapt out at him, which typically meant that he was, indeed, alone, and with this small confidence, he sat up. The events of the night lingered in his mind, but were shrouded in a dream’s sort of half-remembrance that made him doubt whether they had truly happened or not. He touched a hand to his chest where the pain had been and felt nothing beyond his scales brushing against one another, whatever had happened appeared to have passed with the fall of the moons. Anthartreoris was not especially consoled; if it had come once, it could come again.

Not that dwelling all day on it would do him any good, the tribe had things that needed to be done and he did have responsibilities to attend to. Rising from the ground, he collected his staff and was about to head out into the open when he paused. Still wary from the night, he turned from the exit to his hut and strode over to an old, wooden bench that occupied the left half of his hut. It creaked in annoyance when he sat on it, but didn’t give up the ghost quite yet. The bench itself was a relic of when someone other than lizardfolk had attempted to live in the swamp. They had built huts and brought in furnishings, but between the harassment of the tribe and losing several of their men to the large, carnivorous plants that they had foolishly settled near, everything had been abandoned. His people- ancestors, truly- had then claimed the abandoned houses as their own and it had been that way ever since. Generations had passed since then and the huts were beginning to show the passing of time; the tribe patched them as best they could, but there was only so much to be done. They were warriors, not builders.

To that point, the shaman set his staff across his lap and examined it. The dark, knotted wood was still strong under his scrutiny despite having seen fifteen seasons in his hand, as good swampwood was supposed to do. Anthartreoris had climbed a tree choked in Python Vines in order to claim the wood for his staff, as the land had instructed him to do… even the normally aggressive vines had allowed him safe passage that day, as if they understood his mission. He had been thankful to them every day since, and the stout staff with the large knot at the base had served him well. Satisfied with the wood itself, he shifted his attention upward, checking the bindings that kept various fetishes attached to the staff. A small handful of large, shelled seeds had been bored into and run through with thin strips of leather in order to tie them to the staff; the two varieties were local to the swamp and while they looked nearly identical, Anthartreoris knew which would grow into an ugly little thorn bush whose tiny, ashen leaves could be made into a poultice to speed the healing process of wounds or a brew to counteract most toxins, or a beautiful yellow flower that, when ground and applied to weapons, couldn’t even be used to hunt prey because it was so toxic as to poison the eater of the meat as well as the animal. He also knew that for anyone else, those seeds were dead. Only he could coax life back into them, compel the plants to grow in a matter of hours instead of months. Above the seeds, a large thorn was tied below a pair of feathers that iridesced black or blue depending on how the light hit them. They were trophies from the swamp, with no value to anyone other than the shaman who had claimed them. Above those, a metal spearhead that had been wrested from a human’s weapon was lashed on. He checked the bindings on all of these things to ensure that they were tight before standing again and taking a few practice lunges and swipes with the weapon. Everything appeared fine and he did not feel too slow with his attacks. Unfortunately, nothing other than having to use the weapon for real would tell the shaman if he was out of practice or not.

Hissing in annoyance, Anthartreoris finally left his shelter and joined the others of the tribe; though he was very surprised to see that they already had a fire started and were roasting some of the day’s catch. Was the day already so far gone that he had missed the hunting party’s departure and return? Why hadn’t anyone roused him?

A small group of scouts and warriors were clustered around the fire, having what appeared to be a serious talk as they made sure the meat didn’t burn. He could not hear what they were saying, but from their expressions, he knew they were riled up about something. Curious to the conversation as well as how long he had been asleep; Anthartreoris crossed the packed earth to stand behind them. It didn’t take long to learn that they were talking about the previous night’s fog and the whispers. All of them agreed that it had been very strange and all of them were worried about what it meant. Obviously, the gods were involved somehow, but what did they want?

<Anthartreoris!> A grey-scaled scout happened to turn around and see the shaman looking over their shoulders, at which she started visibly. She then nearly bowled one of the others in her hurry to turn around and face him. She was significantly more slender than the males, but that was to her advantage as she was known to be the best and fastest scout in the tribe. <You woke up!>

Well, that was hardly a good sign. Anthartreoris bobbed his head in agreement, <I did. Though you say it like there was doubt.>

The group shared a concerned glance before the scout spoke again, <We have tried to wake you all day, but you would not stir. Only just have we stopped…>

The shaman flicked his tail across the ground and hissed in the back of his throat; all of the information he was being faced with did nothing to settle the pressing worry he had felt since waking. The tribe had also heard the whispers, which meant that it had not been some dream to haunt him and him alone, but what did that mean? For every answer, there were only more questions and no one else to ask them to. For now, it seemed all he could to was turn them over like eggs and wait until something hatched—hope for good news instead of whatever this was.

<I see.> Anthartreoris joined the collective at the fire and settled down on his haunches, <Tell me then what I have missed this day.>

When he opened his eyes, the sun was already high in the sky, its bright light streaming through the small gaps between the leaves. He blankly stared at the lush trees for a while, trying to recall and arrange the events of last night with his still half-asleep mind.

It had been a very strange night, that's for sure. The forest was quiet, too quiet; the leaves above him didn't even rustle and he could have sworn that twigs and branches barely crackled beneath his feet. It was almost as if every living thing in the forest decided to hide their presence. Then there was the fog, thick and heavy and more than just a little unnerving. Cold and slightly wet, it made him feel like he was wading through a shallow, endless river, and it was so thick, he almost couldn't see where he was putting his feet.

The fog had forced him to retire earlier than he had planned to, and so he sought for shelter among the roots of a particularly large tree. Placing his bag beside him, he then curled up and wrapped his cloak tightly around his small frame in an attempt to ward off the chilly air before finally closing his eyes.

And that was when he started to hear those voices; those whispers inside his head.

Along with the burning pain in his chest, they tormented him for the rest of the night, effectively robbing him of his sleep until dawn. Only then did they slowly leave him and allow him to rest—though not without leaving one final message that still echoed in his head right now.

I am coming.

Carran took a deep, deep breath and let out a heavy sigh. He honestly didn't feel like getting up right now; everything that happened last night had left him even more tired than before it all began; but if he didn't start walking now, he wouldn't be able to make any significant progress before sundown.

Besides, he was also feeling rather thirsty. And hungry.

Letting out another sigh, he forcefully willed his body to move and rose to a sitting position. Taking a moment to stretch his stiff limbs, he then reached for his bag and placed it on his lap, yawning as he rummaged through his belongings for something to drink.

All he found was an empty water canteen.

"...Oh, right," he nonchalantly muttered, stuffing the leather container back into his bag. He'd run out of water last night and had planned to find some in the morning, though the events of last night had pretty much made him forget about it until now.

After a moment's pause, Carran finally stood up and fixed his cloak, dusting the dirt and bits of grass from the garment as he did. He then picked his bag up and slung it over his shoulder, and after making sure everything was present and in their proper places, he began his search for the nearest water source.

As he walked among the tall trees, he took a few moments to observe his surroundings. The forest had returned to normal, it seemed; the birds were chirping, the leaves were rustling in the breeze, and he could clearly feel the presence of other animals within the forest. There wasn't even a trace of last night's peculiar silence—which only served to worsen his unease.

He was briefly distracted when his nose picked up the smell of water, though the ominous thoughts quickly returned as he followed the scent. No matter what, he couldn't shake off the feeling that everything that had happened last night signaled the beginning of something—something he couldn't quite name yet. Good or bad, he didn't know. He didn't even have any proof to support his theory in the first place; it was pretty much all instinct at this point. Still, his instincts were usually spot on, what with how he's originally an animal and all. Should he be worried?

The river appeared before he could decide.

Carefully, he stepped onto one of the larger rocks in the middle of the clear stream and crouched before tentatively reaching his fingers out to the water. It was cold, though in a pleasant way, and he soon found himself greedily scooping up the water to drink. Apparently, he was a lot thirstier than he had expected. All that ragged breathing last night had taken quite the toll on him, it seemed.

After drinking his fill, he took the empty canteen from his bag, refilled it with water from the stream, and attached it to his belt. He then splashed some cold water onto his face and wiped it with his sleeve as he stood up, nimbly jumping back to the riverbank shortly thereafter.

Carran rummaged through his bag for a moment before pulling out an apple, taking a bite as he resumed his walk through the forest. His decision could probably wait; after all, it wasn't as if something was going to happen to him right now.

...Right?

To all who ask, I am that I am.

Ajali wrapped her veils ever tighter around herself, layer upon layer of silk offered some semblance of filter from the caustic air around her. Even through those countless layers of protection the air of the marshes seeped through the fabric and the scent seemed to burn up Ajali's sinuses, leaving an aching burning sensation with the faintest tint of evergreen, though that might simply be her body's attempt to identify the scent that seemed to have no discerning smell other then the burn she felt in her nose, her mouth and down the back of her throat. Long-time residents of Greenmist said that given enough time your sense of smell died, and your sense of taste followed, leaving you unaffected by the toxic smog, that drove everyone else away, but there was also the warning that came with that immunity, it was a sign of impending death. No one lasted long after they lost their ability to smell, Ajali thought that the revulsion your body felt was it's attempt to repulse whatever it was that was so poisonous in the air, and when even your body stopped fighting it, it was simply too late to be saved. Sending a bittersweet prayer of thanks for her body's painful rejection of the smell Ajali shifted her market basket along her arm under her tiers of veils, she hurried home.

Greenmist was the place Ajali had found to call home, here dressed all in layers of veils no one questioned her heritage, and there was such an air of stagnation and death here that anyone who still lived regardless of race or skillset was welcome in this dying region. So many who once lived here had left and so few that lived elsewhere came here, that any young woman was never without offers, with so few questions asked it was almost scary. The wind whipped around her bringing an unearthly chill and Ajali hurried home, the house was a small affair built of stone and mortar, and all in all very unappealing from the front. Ajali ducked inside the front door and closed it behind her, stripping her veils she tossed them down a shoot to the basement, where the laundry was, a second door was opened and Ajali emerged into the remainder of her home. The double doors was to keep out as much of the Greenmist air as possible, and the work that had been part and parcel in it's construction had been done by a local young man who was more then happy to help build a house for a young woman new to Greenmist. Ajali smiled faintly it was almost pleasant here, weather notwithstanding, to have a young man who found her attractive was a foreign delight. Turning to inspect herself in the mirror over the side board Ajali ran delicate fingers over her face, far from unattractive she found the slight variances from her father's human blood so distasteful. She was lovely enough as humans went with just the faintest hint of a point to her chin and slant to her amethyst eyes even the blunted tip to her ears was minor enough to be dismissed as just a human variant especially since it was hidden beneath her long hair. It was the 'witchcraft' she had inherited from her mother that had given her an unearned stigma among the humans she had made her home among before. She was not beautiful enough or talented enough to find her home among the elves for she in no way met their standards, and among her father's people she was lovely enough so long as her oddity was not revealed to their superstitious scrutiny. Brushing her hair back out of her face she smiled and managed to find the reflection rather attractive, done with her moment of vanity Ajali laughed at her own silliness and gathered back up her shopping to put it away. She turned herself to the simple tasks of cleaning up around the house, those small messes she had accrued while she was out helping those that remained try and bring in the meager harvest the nearly barren crops had produced this year.

But in my heart I wonder, who is that?

Falan
xxxxShaydren







When Falan woke from the deep recesses of sleep, his sense of hearing recovered first. He heard the leaf and wind gently conversing in whispers all around him. The sound of light footsteps of his kin ghosting the branches of the trees. A union of birdsong and nature's music lilted through the air as soft as a springtime breeze. Closer, he heard and felt the footsteps of someone moving around on the surface he lay upon, the sound of a knife sliding across stone, and two quiet voices murmuring to each other. Falan bid his eyes open and he met the midday sun streaming through the canopy above him with an unsure blink. He had always risen at the break of dawn. He was on a morning patrol every day and he had never missed a single day of it. Until today, obviously... but why? He wasn't even in his own home! What on earth had happened to him?

Like a summoning of thought alone, the last memory he retained before falling into darkness formed in his mind and made his blood grow cold. The eerie mist that had invaded their beloved Comire, sending wary patrols into the forest and drawing all others into the center ring of their civilization. Guards had been posted at every tree surrounding their village, tense and all feeling a foreboding weight dropping upon them. Falan had been returning home from his morning patrol with his instructor and the Archery Master, Senla, when they had been sent out again. He remembered traveling for more than two hours in one direction before he had heard the voices calling out. Unnerved by them Falan had tried to warn Senla but the moment he had opened his mouth it felt as though his entire chest had been run through with blazing hot pokers. He could not remember screaming though the pain had been agonizing enough to send him falling from his perch. Perhaps it had hurt too much to scream. He couldn't remember that, only hands that desperately grasped him and hauled him up before his focus was drawn to the voices calling out to him. He had no recollection of anything else after that. Nothing but voices and pain. Except...

I am coming.

Falan bit his lip and slowly focused his mind on the present. He was already sitting up against the trunk of a rather large tree and Falan touched a hand to his chest through the fabric of his clothes. There was no pain. Absolutely nothing. It was as though nothing had happened... Falan used the trunk to lift himself up, standing unsteadily. Something had happened and it had something to do with the last voice he had heard. The one that had dispelled the pain and allowed him rest. But who was coming? He sighed softly and finally took a look around himself. He immediately recognized the area as the one the patrol had been heading into; he glanced down and confirmed that he was still in his lightly-armored clothes as well.

"Falan!"

He would have turned to face his friend, Eslu, if not for the arms that suddenly wrapped around him like vines. Falan grabbed at the arms to stop himself from flailing, chuckling to himself when he heard Eslu murmur worried nonsense into his neck.

"I'm... I'm fine Eslu." He assured his friend softly, patting the arms that did not loosen in the slightest bit.

"I would hope so."

Falan looked over at the figure perched in the tree parallel to his and smiled, "Senla." His smile faded and he questioned, "What happened to me?"

Falan listened in shock and disbelief as Senla explained the entire night's happenings. He had been unconscious for three days? The patrol had returned but after witnessing Falan's agony. Senla had decided to not move Falan but instead bring a healer to them. So here they were. Falan sighed, sitting down again and letting Eslu poke and prod at him to ensure them both of his well-being.

Even with all of the information he now had, he was less concerned with the pain and more curious about the question that now plagued him.

'Who are you?'


OOC: I realize this is probably a bad first post but... I tried my best. crying

Kurama was standing against the tallest tree in the forest enjoying the sounds of the night air, and the way the moonlight caste its shadows into the valley of the town that had disowned him, and his clan. The clan was left to rot, because one of their unstable members had decided to turn cannibal and see how humans tasted. To the member they must of tasted pretty good, because he couldn't stop after just having one of the screaming terrified victims, no he had eaten three, before they had finally killed him. When Kurama, had tried to prove his clan's innocence he was welcomed with pitchforks and torches, armed at him and his fellow clan mates. They had left somewhat willingly as they didn't want to cause the townsfolk any more grief. The noises of the night quickly became quiet all at once. This was uncommon, however it was easily ignored so he proceeded on planning the next villages sudden demise. I'll come from the... east, no west They will be most vulnerable. Before he could even finish the thought a fog had spread through the forest floor. A thick fog that had led saturation within its path. Everything the fog had spread over was quickly and mercilessly drenched in water that wasn't there. The fog had also brought a sickening cold that cold drag even warmest of animals in the cold to death. Shivering Kurama had stumped against the tree, waiting for this unnatural phenomenon to take its prize.

No, The simple fog had seemed to be toying with him, Why would it want the most powerful of his clan dead so easily. Just as Kurama had suspected this the fog had left as quickly as it had came but this time it was replaced with a seething pain inside his right breast. What was this odd sensation? Could it be the end of him? Were there forces that were beyond his control? All these questions would have popped in his head had they had the chance. His mind was a daze, his movements sluggish, and labored.

Without realizing it his right paw quickly found its way to his right breast. The thick fur around his breast had succeeded in keeping the heat inside of him. Violently, His paw had clasped on the right breast harder, than any man, or beast, should have clutched themselves. He had tried to smother the painfully annoying flame. Now This was the time he would be viewing his whole life flash past his eyes. His thoughts had transformed into images blurred mountain ranges passed by, forest of wondering people could be vaguely seen, by the time his mind had processed even the most obvious details the image was switched. All of these places weren't memories that he was familiar with, nor would he be able to recall them if he had tried to.

Not much longer, His mind had blackened, and no form of thought of his own was being formed. He could still feel the unnatural flame swallowing up his insides, and quite literally squeezing his right breast until it had felt like it was going to burst. without the slightest hit of Warning a voice had appeared to him,

"I am Coming" It had resounded in his head at least 6 times. The first time was actually the voice, but the rest of the times was actually him repeating the voice through his head. It was the only other clear thing to him.

A second later he found himself in the same spot in the forest, however the sun at the highest point in the sky. s**t, what the hell happened? The fog, the pain, The voice, It was all too clear to him to be a dream, but there was a new sense. a strong sense to leave his forest, a strong sense that danger was just around the corner and he had to run. Just then His second in command had ran up to him.

"Sir, Were sorry we couldn't wake you, you wouldn't budge, and there's been talk of a strange voice around camp It doesn't look too good, We need you now more then ever I'm afraid. " The second in command respect Kurama far to much to lie to him

"Its alright Kujo, I'll take over from here." After Kujo had left, Kurama had taken a few extra minutes to compose himself. His breaths were still shallow, and the claw marks from his own claws were visible on his right breast right were the mysterious pain had began. There was just a mild discomfort in his movements, but there wasn't anything that he could control, or would allow to show.

He pushed on regrouping with his clan to allow them the insight of his decision. "I will be leaving our little forest outside of Dracwynne, and Will be heading west towards the city of goldhollow. There were a few audible gasps at this rash introduction, but he had the strangest sense that not even him could best what was coming, and he didn't enjoy it. No, he's been used to being able to best all of his problems head first, with Either a fist, or a foot, so why would his tall form, be scared of such a little pain. No, it wasn't the pain that scared him the most, but it was the idea that some creature could put him through all that with out even having their presence known. That scared him, and he had figured that in order to stop the pain, he would have to best the castor with well a fist.

His bag was packed in a few minutes, and he was ready to go, facing the forest towards goldhollow He gave a soft smile towards Kujo, and bowed. No matter how much the words had pained him to say he repeated the sacred oath of their race when power was transferred.

[1] "kiel la atesto de kredo mi deklaras vin la ĝentila ĉefo de tiu klano. Per la potenco thats estis transdonita de generacio al generacio mi, Kurama la elito, ja donas al vi la titolon kiel reganton, Vi pruvas vin en multaj okazoj kaj Estos utila ankoraŭfoje." During his speech his voice was resounded as if a god itself came down and spoken the words from Kurama's body. A small blue orb was transferred from Kurama, to Kujo. Kurama wasn't sure what the orb was, but it was passed from leader to leader in hope that it would great the next leader strength.

After giving the improper ceremony Kurama had quickly vacated the site and began to trudge down the mysterious forest. The forest was odd, small and had felt even eerier then the night prior. He had felt like there was eyes watching him.

When he had reached the end of the small forest that was above the little city he had noticed the sun was about a a half and a quarter in the sky. If he was to make it to the city of gold hollow he would have to move swiftly. His plan was to make it at the end of the three day period. That was only if he didn't run. Running he could probably make it in a day and a half, but he really hated to run when it wasn't necessary. Heading what he had though was due south he began the long walk to Gold hollow. He wasn't actually moving due south, however he was moving more of a west followed by south. He was going to be hitting the golden forest and heading toward the city from there.

___________________________

[1] As the witness of faith I hereby declare you the correct leader of this clan. By the power thats been passed down from generation to generation, I ,Kurama the elite, hereby give you the title as ruler, You have proved yourself on many occasions and Will be useful once more.

[Let me know how this turned out I am hoping its good enough ^.^ Edit]

Favore felt like it’d been ages before he received a reply. He heard crickets, humming birds, and howls echoing all throughout the night. He reached up to scratch his head, and when he did he saw a feather of his mane, which he used to cherished fell from his head and got stuck on a claw on his fingers. When his species grew old, the plumage which covered their heads came loose one by one. Rumors stated that when the last feather dropped so did its owner.

He heard rustles from inside the house. There were two people talking on the other side. He wondered if they would let him in or let him rot outside to be attacked by the creatures of the night. The owner arrived, arrived to save him from the cold of the night. His senile tendencies impaired his sight and his connection to reality. The smog altered his senses and his imagination made up excuses. He managed to convince him that his life among the living was already over and he was entering the underworld.

When the door finally opened, he saw an angel before him, so he really had died and this was deaths angel welcoming him to the neither world. She was dressed in veils, shining like a celestial Valkyrie in the moonlight. “Sad… I always imagined angels had wings” He mumbled, the gloomiest of replies to her heartfelt welcome which was hindered by the layers of cloth which covered every inch of her.

He walked inside the gates of heaven. To his surprise heaven was warm. Hell was always described to him, as a flaming pit where not even the strongest of men could find peace. He imagined heaven as the polar opposite of hell, a freezing wonderland were the clouds cuddled the dead as they rested. The thought of his own death caused a sense of euphoria to take a hold of his heart. He felt relieved at the thought of his own death, now he would never have to face his clan as the failure, the old failure they would shame for the remainder of his days.

He wanted to know if he succeeded in life, if his god was pleased with his performance. He walked closer to the woman, towering over her; he stared into her eyes with burning intensity asking “tell me, angel of death, is Ban’de’lul pleased with me? Did I serve well?” He asked her with endless sincerity and desperation. He felt as if her answer would determine the fate of his soul, if he would end up in the flaming pit, or in the warm embrace of the clouds in the heavens.

Unfortunately, his optimisms didn’t last. The Leoporidae reappeared on his shoulder, kicking him in face and sending him back to reality. The shine of the woman vanished, and he saw her for who she really was; a woman who barely fell short of the poverty line. He remembered why he’d knocked on the door in the first place; it was to seek shelter, not to pass on. He wasn’t dead yet, but still an outcast no less.

She was human, a creatures he was unfamiliar with. In Goldhollow there were no humans, only others like him. He didn’t know much about them, only that they were the first who the gods blessed with a higher thought process. These were the ones the beasts were struggling to rise above, yet here he was at the mercy of one. He was willing to accept any sort of redemption he would have to pay later to gain back the pride he was about to lose.

For a moment he was embarrassed, having put his trust into a woman he didn’t even know, not to mention having mistaken himself for dead and mistaken this woman for an angel. Although he now knew what reality was the true one, he still wanted her answer, even if it was only for the false sense of reassurance, which was still better than no assurance at all. He had no reason to hate Homo sapiens it was merely a rivalry in which the winner would rule the world. He figured if they were cruel they would reject him, and if not he would have a place to rest before deciding which course of action to take next.

Kurama had walked the plains of Roztrhané for what had seemed to be an eternity. Really it was only a day and a half, but with every stepped brought back memories of that strange night. The fog, the pain, and worst of all the ominous feeling that was left looming in his heart after the strangeness of the night had left him. Even his escape from his clan had felt like abandonment, and that was the worst feeling that he had felt in a long while. He had known from the start that if he had found the dark magic user, and destroyed it then, maybe then He would finally be able to return to his clan, with his always proud head upon his shoulders.

The plains had finally ceased as he made his way to the golden forest. The tree line was clear, and even more so was his desire to claw them up, to claim the territory as his. His claws itched wanting to feel the bite of bark, and the blood of trees once more, but he wouldn't allow such a petty urge to come between him, and his mission to get to goldhollow. There was something waiting for him there. What exactly even he didn't hold the answer to. It could be a friend or even a foe, or a riddle altogether, but one thing was certain What ever lied in wait for him wasn't going to have to wait to much longer.

The sunlight of the plains dimmed, and gave way to shade, shade that was produced by old canopies sprouting up from trees. He could tell in the canopies that there were twitches of movement all over the place. His hunter instincts become very reliable in such an environment. there was prey every where stalking, and sulking alike. All of it was just a huge morsel for him, and his gigantic claws.

His belly rumbled with the equivalent loudness of thunder. He was famished, but he wouldn't, no couldn't stop to eat now. His time schedule wouldn't allow it.

Crack!

Although it was true The fallen leaves of the forests underbrush crunched and crackled with every step he had taken, but that's not what created the loud crack he was sure of it. "Come out!" He roared loudly. The birds in the trees had flown away out of pure fear of his voice, as if they had known he was coming for them. His Yellow cat like iris's had scanned the area looking for anywhere the slight crack could have come from.

As he scanned the area His eyes stopped on what looked like an large tree that had footprints leading behind it, but that's not what intrigued him. What had intrigued him was the little critter that had made the noise and ran, Skittish. "I see you pray! come out now" He bellowed once more. Not letting his eyes off of the creature, but he wasn't dumb he was also listening for any other movement on all sides of him. He couldn't afford to be ambushed in such a forest as the golden forest.

[Will try to produce more entertaining posts]