Ter'aixes sold

[Lief Erikson]

*Tell me, is this incomprehensible? No one post yet; I'm still submitting more of it. I'll tell you when I'm done, and then will welcome responses .*

Ter'aixes sold

The wagon train bounced rapidly down the bumpy forest road. The men sitting on the wooden seats in the front boxes of the wagons had an anxious, almost fearful look about them. They were large men, many of them scarred. Heavy crossbows were next to many of them, along with jagged, double edged swords. Some of the men already wore heavy coats of chain mail armor. A few had metal caps on their heads, for added defense. The wagons had wooden hoops on their interior, supporting large canvas coverings that hid the contents of the wagons from view. The horses moved forward swiftly, feeling the tension of their masters and desiring to finish the passing on of this caravan swiftly.

The leader of the caravan, a broad, muscular man riding a horse near the front of the wagon train, wore a red handkerchief around the top of his head. He had a grizzled face and graying brown hair. Three of his front teeth were missing from his the upper gum of his mouth. Three long scars ran down one side of his face, deep gouges in his flesh looking like fingerprints. One of the long openings in his flesh crossed the place where his left ear had been. It had been cut off in whatever vicious slash had been dealt him. The wounds were long since healed, but the dark insides of his flesh were still visible through the wounds. A large broadsword hung on this rider’s back, and he held a short bow in his right hand, with a quiver of stubby arrows beside it. His dusky gray eyes were fixed simply on the road ahead, and he moved forward with a steady sureness that gave some of his nearest followers confidence.

The man, Urba Max by name, hesitated abruptly and raised his hand. The wagons behind him ground to a halt, and silence swiftly fell on the ten-wagon caravan. The men did not make a sound, but did their utmost to steady and quiet the cart horses. Urba rode a few paces further ahead of the company, watching the woods about him with the eyes of a hunter.

For several long seconds he was quiet, and then an eerie cry rose up in the woods ahead of them. Another cry rose, and then another. Animal noises wafted up along the path toward the caravan. The sound of feet crashing through the brush now could be heard, approaching the group.

“Dolbens!” Urba said, loudly. He turned around to his followers. “Rok, Fade, go now!”

Two trained mercenaries on fleet-footed, bareback white horses sped off into the woods toward the cries in an instant. One was drawing his scimitar, while the other hesitated for a moment longer at the wagon train to untie a couple white goats. That mounted mercenary took the goats, which were bleating and pulling in the opposite way, off into the forest. Distraction was necessary. The Dolbens, hairless monkeys with great wiry strength and poisonous fangs and claws, hunted in savage, loud packs. They were terrible predators, but South Alflickians had learned to deal with the menace they posed. The goats would be distraction, one goat offered the Dolbens at a time. The goats would be consumed swiftly, but in that amount of time, the mercenaries had to split up, circle around the pack and escape. Meanwhile, the convoy would speed up and thunder down the path, past the Dolben pack. Between thirty and forty Dolbens were to be found in an average pack, and even three were a sufficient match for a trained fighter. Their frenzied strength and fearlessness made them lethal.

The mercenaries probably had bloodied one of the goats by now. Normally they would have been attracted to the scent of the caravan, but blood was more tempting to them even then the sensed larger prey. The monkeys passed the group by, running off down the path. The wagon men and horses could hear the beasts thundering by on their chosen route, though they could not see them. The sound of thrashing branches on the opposite side of the path could be heard, as the terrible predators moved on. Soon they could not be heard any longer. They were still near, but for the moment the caravan was safe.

“Now!” Urba exclaimed.

The group instantly reacted, the wagon masters smacking their horses’ rumps with the reins hard, though not using any whips. The places in Alflick that were safe were few, and the loud sound of the crack of a whip could bring trouble in a hundred forms.

The wagon train thundered down the path, Urba riding hastily in the lead. He shoved his short bow over his shoulder, keeping both hands on the reins and watching the forest on either side of him intently.

[Lief Erikson]

. . .




The path was clear again. Rok and Fade, two skilled human warriors, had returned both without a wound. The Dolben pack had been unable to keep up with their tactics, and had fallen behind. Urba passed them a few coins from his moneybag, to pay for their efforts.

That night, the wagon riders and horses were gathered into a cluster, leaving the wagons themselves untended. If the cargo had been different, such a tactic never would have been taken. Urba was well aware, however, that no forest predator or scavanger would approach these wagons. Only fearless, insane creatures like Dolbens could be a threat. Most predators and game shied away from the path as they sensed the danger lurking within the wagons. The creatures hidden within were bound by mighty iron chains, held captive with vicious padlocks and ropes of steel links. The monsters were skinny, but they were powerful. They were strong enough to burst the wagons to shreds, should they gain freedom. Urilon Cords, bonds that sealed people off from magic, had been wrapped around the monsters to keep their innate power bound. The creatures were filled with fury at the insult of their treatment. Their hatred longed for a release, and the terror of these predators could be sensed by creatures from miles around. Those Dolbens were so insane and frenzied that they would attack a full grown dragon if it intruded on their land, or if they were hungry. If they had accidentally freed even one of the creatures Urba held captive, it would have meant the end for him and all his company. Perhaps some might have lived, if they were extremely lucky. The cargo was worth the risk of transporting, however. The price that these creatures would fetch, sold to the Katcharian Knights’ Order, was astounding. These creatures had never successfully been bred in captivity, as far as Urba knew, and the Katcharians kept needing more of them to supplement their new military task force. The Mage Knights had been chosen as riders for the Ter’aixes, the murderers in the air. The Katcharian military was using them as a secret weapon to be used in future invasions, an invincible and incredibly swift strike force that would make the most powerful citadels and castles vulnerable. There was a cunning mind behind the Katcharian military, and Urba was glad to be of service.

Southern Alflickian humans of Katcharian descent were mistreated within their land, abused and treated as second-class citizens. They were denied the right of high rank within the military, denied the pay of other military officers, and denied many other privileges that belonged rightfully to all the citizens of Southern Alflick. Urba and his comrades were Southern Alflickians of Katcharian descent, and they were unwilling to let the lower races that controlled Southern Alflick mar their people’s destiny any longer. If they helped the Katcharian military, perhaps Katchar would respond by conquering Southern Alflick next. This was Urba’s hope, and the hope of many other Katcharians. They wanted freedom from oppression. If it weren’t for the unceasing oppression they endured, Urba would not have betrayed his homeland. There were others that felt differently, he knew. There were plenty of people among the Katcharian ethnic group in Southern Alflick that still refused to betray their government, still retained hope. Yet more then that had grown tired of their treatment, had grown weary of the bias, and wanted to turn the tables on their oppressors.

Urba and his group were involved in a smuggling operation. It was not predators that Urba watched so intently for so much as elven soldiers, who would doubtless be patrolling the Nubidian border to make sure that no trade went on between Katcharians and Southern Alflickians. The Majority Council that ruled Southern Alflick had ordered that no trade take place. The southern border of their country was protected by a long string of forts, an impenetrable barrier that kept all Southern Alflickians inside and all Katcharians out. The Nubidian border had been opened up a few years ago though, when Katchar had conquered the halfling country Nubidis. The Majority Council, unable to afford the construction of another string of forts, was only capable of using patrols to cover its long stretches of woodland. These patrols were not sufficient, but random chance might throw Urba into the path of one of these patrols, and he hated to do his countrymen of Katcharian descent the disservice of having blood on their hands. Hitherto, all terrorism had been against his people, all bloodshed against Katcharian Southern Alflickians. This fact lent strength to the appeals being made by the ethnic Katcharian representatives. Urba did not want to take strength from them, in their process. If equality could be gained by these peaceful means, he would accept it and then back down from his efforts to support Katchar. Urba did not believe that it would happen, however. The members of the other races were too afraid of the Katcharian Southern Alflickian humans to give them freedom. Their fear and injustice would cause Katchar to gain Southern Alflick. Urba believed in the power of the Katcharian military, and he would help them to the best of his ability. He would do everything he could to get the Katcharians to invade his country, and he had faith that given time, they would do it.

[Lief Erikson]

. . .




Three days later, Urba reached the Nubidian border. He could see the trees’ end. The Katcharians had cut down the woods that once had spread out of Southern Alflick into Nubidis and had burned the stumps, creating the large plains in this country that they loved so well. Their god was the god of the fields, and they shared his love and passion. Urba hesitated as he reached the edge of the forest, knowing that he would be exposed to any watcher should he and his wagon train leave the woods. This would just have to be so, however. They would be within the Katcharian border, and any action Southern Alflickian patrols might take against him then would be at risk of initiating a war between Katchar and Alflick. However, there didn’t seem to be any Katcharian watchers here in plain view to report any illegality that was taken here.

Urba could not afford to act with practical caution. He reached for his shoulder bow and took it, fitting one of his stubby arrows to the string.
“Ready yourselves,” he told Fade and Rok.

The two men drew their longbows and placed their neat shafts to the taut strings, readying themselves for a fight.

Urba shouted the next order. “Forward!”

The wagon train crashed out of the woods down onto the Katcharian plain, down the incline toward lower ground, former halfling ground. Urba looked back at the woods and heard the sound of a horn. His wagon train thundered on though, all ten wagons and the five riders alongside in plain sight. The other two riders were doctors, men ready to heal injuries on the trek. Urba and his two mercenaries looped around toward the back of the company, their arrows ready.

Twelve horsemen suddenly galloped out of the woods nearby toward their group, hurtling toward them over the ground. They knew that they were within Nubidis, but they were furious at the Katcharians and hungry to stop some of the smugglers at last. All twelve of them were elves, all wearing breastplates and armored caps, over silver chain mail shirts. They raised their bows, arrows and spears as they came, readying themselves for the onslaught.

They were gaining ground rapidly. Urba raised his short bow, waiting for them to get into range. Fade and Rok opened fire, shooting their longbow shafts at their opponents, fixing new arrows to the quivers and then firing again. One of the elves toppled off his steed, an arrow sticking through his neck. The others urged their horses faster, trying to get into range, angry at the longbows. Rok’s next shaft took a horse in the chest and caused it and the rider to crumple to the ground in an explosive cloud of dust.

One of the elves fired an arrow, but it fell short. The riders continued to endure longbow shafts for the next minute, losing two more men in the process, until they got into range to bring their own arrows into use.

“Face them now!” Urba shouted to his mercenaries. “The rest of you, get clear!”

He reversed his horse’s direction and plunged back toward the elves, firing with his short bow. His arrows hurtled at his enemies swift and hard, and he saw two of them bounce off a man’s armor, and a third slam into the left arm of an elf. Urba shoved his bow back into place and yanked free his broadsword, shouting.

“KATCHAR! KATCHAR! FREEDOM!”

An arrow thudded into his side, searing him with pain. Blood swiftly poured down his side from the wound, drenching his hip. He swung the broadsword, barely managing to parry a lance that would have skewered him, and in passing he cut a broad chunk from that rider’s leg. The man howled with pain, but managed to keep his seat on his horse.

Fade’s scimitar sliced a nearby archer from his mount, but then a lance was stabbed through him by a passing soldier. The mercenary was pushed straight off his horse, two feet of lance sticking out of his gut, screaming. The soldier dropped the lance, drew his sword and broke Fade’s skull open with a single blow.

Rok howled rage at the loss of his comrade and charged the soldier, exchanging sword blows with him. The remaining soldiers were closing about them. Seven of them were down, but the five left moved in with clear determination and skill.

Urba swung his broadsword at the one he’d wounded in the leg, and managed to cut him out of the saddle, wounded a second time, his chest and side opened. Rok had killed his opponent, but had received a wound in the shoulder and face in the doing. The two of them turned on their remaining opponents, swords raised, wounds glistening in the light. Their enemies surely were discouraged at having lost so many of their followers only to kill three opponents, yet their dismay did not slow their desire for revenge. The children of wrath plunged down on the two injured warriors. Pain searing him from his side at every movement, Urba came at them nonetheless. An elf stabbed his lance viciously straight through Urba’s horse’s neck, and Urba twisted in the saddle to avoid the vicious, bloody point aiming for his gut. He swung his sword hard at the second opponent, but missed as his horse went down and he fell away onto the grass, the arrow pushing a bit deeper into his flesh.

Groaning and clutching his side, he pulled himself to his feet and parried the low sword blow an elf made at him as he passed, riding hard by. The other elf came at him, lance lowered for the kill. Urba dodged, hacking at the weapon and barely managing to block the wooden lance. The rider passed, and his comrade came at Urba next from behind, cutting downward. This Urba had anticipated, and twisting around he blocked the downcut toward his head and reversed his sword, stabbing through the horseman’s middle.

The elf came off the horse, suspended on Urba’s sword, his defensive mail shattered under the broadsword’s power. Urba flung the man to the ground and turned to face his last opponent.

[Lief Erikson]

. . .





Rok and Urba were seated together beside the place where they’d buried Fade. They had left their enemies where they’d fallen. Two horses, Rok and Fade’s, were held tied nearby, ready for the two of them to ride out on as they followed the caravan. They would wait to do this until the morning.
Rok was helping Urba to get the arrow out of his side. A thin piece of wood from the nearby woods had been fetched and placed in his mouth. Rok probed the place around the wound with his fingers. Urba’s shirt was lying near him on the ground. Rok drew a dagger, looking up at Urba once, grimly. Then he went down again.

Searing pain blinded Urba as Rok cut into his flesh with the dagger. The arrow had a jagged tip, meant to rip the interior of the person as it came out. The weapon had been formed with the intent that if it failed to kill upon entry, it would kill when it came out. If the massive internal damage caused by tearing the weapon out of an individual did not kill him, the loss of blood certainly would. Rok had to open the place further in order to insert a small piece of metal with which he would push Urba’s insides out of the way of the jagged edge. Though it was an agonizingly painful operation, it was the only way Urba could be kept alive. Leaving the arrow inside him was not an option.

The dark skinned mercenary dug deeper with his dagger, and more blood surged from the wound. He pushed the slip of metal he’d devised in as he used the tip of his dagger to probe the place, feeling the rib the jagged edge had snagged on.

Removing his dagger from the open wound, he took the arrow shaft and pushed it a little deeper, lifting the jagged edge from the bone. Then he turned the arrow a few centimeters, pushed the shaft of metal deeper and outward, and then slowly, steadily pulled the arrow free.

The agony was excruciating, unimaginable. Urba’s hands had clawed into the earth, his face looking up toward the merciless starry sky above him. Blood was gushing from the wound as Rok lifted the arrow.

Urba was screaming through the wood, unable to conceal the suffering, regardless of his experience. The shaft then was gone. Rok slowly lifted the metal out also, letting the flesh slide back into place. Rok’s hands and the edges of his sleeves were drenched in blood, and so was Urba’s side and pants. Rok opened his saddle pack and withdrew a needle and thread, which he hastened to use on Urba’s side, stemming the flow of blood at last. Urba was near fainting by this time. Rok used his dagger to rip apart the other man’s shirt apart, folded one of the new cloths lengthways, and then tightened a bandage around Urba’s waist.

He stepped back, looking down on his suffering employer sympathetically. He sheathed his dagger and sat down near him. “The brandy left with the wagons,” he said.

Urba already knew this. He ground his teeth on the piece of wood for a few moments longer, and then spat it out. “Have a pleasant sleep,” he growled.

[Lief Erikson]

. . .





Dawn’s light pierced the sky. Urba was still awake, still suffering. The shirt strip bound around his chest was blood drenched, and his gore covered the ground about him as well. Urba cursed the foul weapons of the Alflickian patrol, but he knew even as he did that Katcharian South Alflickians used many of the same arrowheads. As light entered the sky, Urba saw in the distance, along the treeless border between South Alflick and Nubidis, a thin line of riders heading slowly but steadily toward the battle site. Soon they would see what had happened.

Urba turned back to Rok and shoved his sleeping form with a fist. He motioned with his head over his shoulder. “A patrol. I must get out of here now.”

“Your wound may re-open,” Rok warned him, but he did not object.

The mercenary reached down and helped Urba to his feet, holding him beneath the armpits. He supported him on the way to their horses and shoved him into the saddle of Fade’s horse, ignoring the visible agony he underwent at the rough movements.

Rok mounted his horse also, riding close at Urba’s side to help him maintain his seat. The two rode away from the battle site at as swift a pace as they could manage. The Katcharians obviously were far more lax with the protection of their borders then were the South Alflickians.

The riders were heading now in their direction, but certainly not with a desire to pursue. As Urba watched, he saw them begin to drag the bodies of horses and men back toward the woods, clearing up the site in the hope that the Katcharians would not realize what violation had occurred. There would be no proof on Urba’s side that the South Alflickian patrol hadn’t attacked within the borders of its own land. The first patrol had been foolish to attack the wagon train after it had entered Katcharian territory, but they had been lucky. It appeared to Urba now that war might be prevented longer. Hopefully though, it would come soon.

Rok and Urba reached the town their wagon train had fled to that nightfall. On the way they had encountered a unit of fifty Katcharian horsemen, riding out toward the border they had left. They would not reach the border in time to encounter the mess that had occurred within, however. The Alflickian patrol had worked swiftly to cover well for what had happened.

The town itself was called Unoovis. The place had initially been a halfling village, but Katcharian invaders, when they came, had knocked down the houses and built new ones from the left-over rubble of a size that would fit Katcharians. Timber had been imported from Veshos not long after, and the small Katcharian settlement had turned into a full fledged town. The place was now used as a trading outpost. It had a thriving business going on within it. While for the Southern Alflickians trade was illegal, the Nubidian Katcharians welcomed and encouraged it. Katchar had much to gain by trading with their supporters in Southern Alflick, and much to offer the Alflickians bold enough to risk capture at the hands of the border patrols.

The military weapons trade was particularly vibrant with life. As Urba rode into the section of the town devoted to the military, everywhere he looked, he could see bartering, selling and buying. Merchants in the street haggled with business men wearing fine red, gold, blue and black tunics, vests, cloaks, tights and other items. Many of these business men had swords at their sides or on their backs, showing their knowledge of the military and their connection with it. Fine silver or gold bracelets, necklaces or rings ornamented them, worn to impress newcomers.

Dolbens here and there were visible trapped in cages, snapping and lashing out through the iron bars at anything that got close. Hate filled their eyes as they writhed in the cages, clutching the bars with all four of their limbs and watching the passersby menacingly. Magical weapons were sold on the counter nearby, swords, shields, helmets, bows and arrows crossing the tables as buyers tested them and gauged their utility before beginning to haggle. Gold changed hands rapidly over the bartering tables. Katcharian soldiers occasionally strutted through the place, eyeing wares hungrily, clearly desiring to buy but unable to afford anything. Only high-class weapons dealers were to be found here, along with any Southern Alflickian smugglers that could get through.

Urba rode straight to the center of the military marketplace, and in the open square, he found his wagon train. The wagons were covered and the men stood guard over their wares, holding their sword handles grimly, watching the crowd about them without any trust. They had nothing to fear in this high class environment, but Urba was glad they were alert. These creatures he possessed could well become a secret weapon for Katchar, and he did not want that secrecy spoiled by curious onlookers.

He glanced over at Rok, who shrugged ruefully. Rok dismounted, placed the reins of his horse in the hands of a nearby soldier, and then walked over to help Urba dismount.

Over the next few days, through some of his men, Urba sought out the highest ranking dealer in this place he could find. The man had the authority to make incredible purchases for the Katcharian government. Now that the Katcharian Council of Elders was gone, no institution was left to regulate how much money went to the buyers here on the border of Southern Alflick. This man, Eidolun Mavorus, was able to suck money from the treasury now and spend it on massive endeavors. The new court officials in charge of the treasury had none of the wisdom, training and understanding of their predecessors. Urba had heard that weapons dealers from Katchar grew wealthy now on diverting some of the funds they used ‘for the state’ to their own coffers. Inefficiency was a great hindrance to the new Katcharian government. Skillful people were stealing public money without difficulty, and court treasurers were complacent about the problem. Much of the money wasn’t being stolen, but was being used for the public good, though outside of government control.

Urba was in touch now with such a man. Eidolun Mavorus had grown rich after the Council of Elders was eliminated, but he still wielded a great deal of power and Katcharian treasure for the purposes of aiding the state of Katchar. Katchar’s military was becoming strong indeed under his guidance.

Urba was brought on a litter to the man’s mansion, in the heart of the town’s wealthy center. One of his men rapped on the large double doors, and Urba waited, held up by two others of his followers from the wagon train. He was clad in special garments he had brought for the occasion, scarlet and blue rich, layered clothing he hoped would help Eidolun to remember he was dealing with an equal. Urba was knowledgeable in money matters, though his garb rarely showed his status so well as others’ did. He knew that he would not be allowed to leave the town without having sold his small dragons the Ter’aixes. He would sell today, and he would receive a good price.

[Lief Erikson]

Eidolun entered the room, clad in spotless, rich white garments from head to foot, with a gold belt and necklace.

“I know you trade well, Urba,” he said as he sat down on a plush velvet cushioned, ornate chair opposite him. “You always have.”

The handsome young man smiled, showing a flash of white teeth. “So what have you to offer?”

“Something that cost me much to procur,” he answered, flinching slightly at the pain rising from his wound as he spoke. He knew he would have to endure it though, for he would have to do a good deal of speaking before he left this house. “How much would you pay me for a Ter’aixe?”

Eidolun’s eyes lit up. “Ah . . .” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Very useful they are for our military. We have kept those we have a tight secret, and I am glad you smugglers continue to respect us in that.

“A Teraixe is a fine animal, powerful, lithe, magically potent. The most ferocious kind of creature we have received yet as an asset for the empowering of our military.”

”Perhaps,” Urba thought to himself. “Though if they had anything greater, they certainly wouldn’t tell me about it.”

“I’ll offer you fifty gold Edions for the animal,” Eidolun said.

In a world where gold was rare, fifty pieces was a fine sum. For a Ter’aixe, however, Urba expected more.

“Two hundred would be closer to the mark,” Urba responded. “You must appreciate how much this creature cost me, the loss of lives of some of my followers, the magical mechanisms we had to use up to disable it.”

“Two hundred is a king’s fortune though,” Eidolun argued. “Katchar cannot afford that at this time, a time where monetary embezzlement, blackmail and waste is widespread.”

”While you are leading operations in all these things,” Urba laughed to himself.

Urba’s face was still straight, and he forced it to become stern. “A hundred ninety, then.”






By the end of the haggling, Urba had sold the Ter’aixe for one hundred Edions. He sold the other nine for the same price, earning a thousand gold pieces in total. It was a good reward, a fine wage for the creatures. Eidolun had only been able to afford paying so much because of the collapsing Katcharian monetary system.

Promising to pay his men upon their safe return to their headquarters in Southern Alflick, where he could pay those that had stayed behind as well, Urba began the journey home. The money he had earned was a fortune for any man, and Urba would be guaranteed a safe and pleasant life back in Southern Alflick upon his return. However, he knew in his heart that this was not going to be the end for him. When he had recovered, he would conduct more smuggling operations into Nubidis, would continue to support Katchar’s military and meet again and again with Eidolun. He knew that he would continue this until Southern Alflick fell to the Katcharian armies. He looked forward to this event with all his being, and for its coming he would continue to strive.

[Lief Erikson]

*Thus ends the story. Tell me please if things are too complex for the reader to understand. I reference many different places and situations. Do those kinds of political or economical descriptions bog down the story? Are there names, places or events that are unexplained, and thus incomprehensible? I'm very eager to get this story understandable to an average reader, and so would be particularly grateful for criticism in this area. Thank-you. Enjoy!*

[Earniel]

Originally Posted by Lief Erikson

Do those kinds of political or economical descriptions bog down the story?

I think they do a little. I think the story will work well enough on its own with a little less explaining of the finer points in politics that are going on. The same with the explanation of Urba's motives for smuggling, it's very detailed and in my opinion not really necesary in such a sort story.

[Lief Erikson]

Okay, acknowledged. I'll know to adjust it some. It was originally written for the Atharon world, Urba being representative for his people. So you're reading it slightly out of context. The stories to Atharon that I'm writing right now are a portrait of the different parts of the region (Southern Alflick) that we'll be roleplaying in after the current game is finished.

[Earniel]

Ah well, that explains it.

How is Atharon these days?

[Lief Erikson]

Moving a bit slower then is desirable. We were playing in too many different parts of the country at once, so I had to divide it into chapters. Dividing it into chapters caused the number of players able to post to be divided by half. Only about half of us are able to post at one time, because not everyone has characters everywhere. That slows things. It is very useful for keeping continuity stable, but it does have this affect of slowing things. I'll bring up the issue at the end of the RPG again, asking everyone if they're interested in having chapters involved in future RPGs, if we have roleplaying in many places going on again. Some of them are being made to wait. I have characters everywhere and am actively keeping the RPG moving, so it's no problem really for me, except in game speed. I'll have to get the opinions of the other players.

I will tell you right now though that I'm finding these Atharon RPGs more enjoyable then our Entmoot ones. They've been extremely fun.