I am curious what you folks think.
I've finally been having consistent success after just starting out with fly fishing at the end of April. I started out fishing for steelhead because our local run was happening and was getting pretty discouraged with those elusive bastards (though I did catch one eventually)... I've since moved on to native brook trout with more success and I feel like I'm learning a lot and having fun with it.
My question is this - should I move on from a hole if I've managed to hook and catch a trout? Does the ensuing fight with all its splashing and chaos put the rest of the fish on high alert? I was debating this with myself last night.
I'll paint the picture: I found a great looking stretch of creek (quite narrow, perhaps 10' across), and on my second cast with a wooly bugger, nailed a 10" brookie. After releasing it, I continued to work the same stretch of water. I was on the raised bank, able to see a few fish including quite a big one, but they mostly investigated my fly before retreating toward the far bank and the deeper water. Seeing these fish kept the blinders on and had me focused on this spot, but I kept wondering - are they spooked after the brief fight the trout I caught put up? If they didn't leave the area is it worth spending a fair amount of time, or would I have best results moving upstream? I didn't get any more bites (that registered to me anyways), and when I eventually moved on I ended up losing another large fish.
What's your take?
There’s a lot of misinformation, or at the very least misunderstanding going around this sub regarding the Simons Foundation’s $500 million gift.
First of all, this isn’t an instant lump sum deposit of $500 million—the total amount will be actually paid over the course of a few years (seven, according to NYT).
More importantly, the money isn’t going directly into someone’s pocket, or even directly into a university project. It’s going into our endowment, which is typically distributed across many investments with the goal of creating a consistent source of income for the university.
So, the answer to the question “what are we going to do with that money?” might actually be “nothing”, at least directly. Instead, it will likely end up as a nucleus for gradual, consistent income, which will in turn be spent on, well, the things you and I care about.
This is good for you. Stony Brook’s endowment is minuscule compared to many similarly-ranked institutions. In fact, it’s so minuscule that it almost defies logic as to how we’ve been able to remain operational all these years, let alone competitive.
Another reason this is good for you is that it’s a clear, unambiguous signal that Stony Brook is an institution worth investing in. Something is obviously being done right over here, and you are part of it. Go Seawolves!
[←Chapter 51] [Cover Art] [My Links] [Index] [Discord] [Subreddit] [Chapter 53→]
Sorore’s current state could best be described as ‘alarmed’ with considerable regret for good measure. She had entrusted the mage with the knife that she had made, and found it had gone to disaster in short order.
Of course, no such rational analysis came through her mind as she lay on the floor of the church. The shaking and rattling had been so bad her mind had mostly been preoccupied by the grim vision of crushing stones. When the heat and quake had finally abated, she found herself among frightened children and shattered glass. Surprisingly, most of the injuries were fairly minor, given the immensity of what had just happened but still, people glanced up at the warped ceiling with fear.
People slowly staggered to their feet, Niche, having been thrown some ways away, joining them. Outside, there were still screams and the clash of battle, but it seemed smaller than before. Frare took her by the arm, looking around and trying to blink away the dizziness that had taken him to the ground. He began to tug her in the direction of the front door, much to her confusion.
“Not there!” she gasped, “why would we go out there?”
“That’s where…” he said, coughing violently, “that’s where she- where she is.”
“Who? What do you mean?”
“Aya went out, during the chaos,” he said, “Lillian too.”
“We can’t help them now,” she insisted, “did you hit your head? Think about what’s out there Frare! Who knows what the mage conjured up?”
“Only one way to find out,” he said, before peeling away from her and taking off down the centre aisle.
Sorore took one step forward to follow him, yet fear and disorientation held her back from taking another. It wasn’t long however before Frare returned, shaking his head.
“I don’t know what happened out there, it’s like…” he said, eyes crossed in confusion, “I dunno how to describe it. But she’s not out there, at least I don’t think she is.”
“Where else could she have gone?” cried Sorore.
“I don’t know,” said Frare, a little indignant, “I was knocked down. I could barely see.”
“Well, we need to find her,” said Sorore, gesturing at the church to drive the point home.
She looked around the church, trying to figure out where the girl might’ve gone.
“She couldn’t have gone out the window, they’re far too narrow, even for her,” she said, “and you just said she wasn’t anywhere near the front, so she must either be in the hospice or the roof.”
Frare was already moving behind her to examine what remained of the overturned beds and curtains. Many of the patients had been returned with much groans and protest to a prone position, but none of them had a young, dark haired girl attending. In under two minutes, it was clear that Aya was not in the alcove that housed the wounded.
Before the twins could make it to the side door, Niche managed to find them. He was covered with dust, and a significant cut on his head lent a stream of blood to coat his brow.
“What happened?” he said, words coming rather slowly.
“Aya’s gone,” said Sorore, moving towards the door without stopping to greet him.
“What?!” the formerly fuzzy quality of his eyes exploding with anxiety, “where?!”
“Not outside. I checked. Not in the hospice either,” said Frare.
His muddled eyes suddenly flashed bright.
“You did what?!” Niche spat, “you went outside?! How long have I been- don’t ever do that again. You could’ve been attacked! You could’ve been killed! How many close calls do you need before you realise that this is not some childish game?!”
Sorore drew back - Niche could get emotional at times, especially when he talked about duty, especially in the context of his faith. Genuine anger was rare, and a full-on fury like the one he was currently displaying was new. Before he could see much more however, Lillian drew near, having returned from the outside with a stony expression.
“Where is she?” she said, with a grim calm that spoke of devastating consequences should the information be withheld.
“She’s not outside,” repeated Frare, with a slight tremor to his voice, “not with the patients, so she must’ve gone to the catacombs.”
“Or the roof,” added Sorore quickly.
Lillian took off without a word, striding quickly towards the side door and throwing it open. Niche, stumbling a little, followed behind, gesturing for the two of them to follow. They did as much as they could with their shorter length, barely managing to keep their guardians in sight up the stairs.
The church roof was now plain in view, with the fog blowing away to reveal its ruined slates. The cloud banks were now breaking up over the distant trees and village outskirts. They could see the moon light illuminating the fighting below. To her surprise, it looked as if there were far, far less creatures than before.
Perhaps taking that as some token of good fortune, Lillian started forwards. At the far end of the roof, knelt Aya by a crumpled mass of black cloth. Sorore started as she recognized the uniform of the mage and the sleeping cat spirit curled in his lap. The sound of the wind whistling through the trees and over the roof was the only thing to break the silence.
Either the mage was in an exhausted stupor after doing… whatever it is he had done, or perhaps the process had killed him, for he lay motionless and without voice.
Aya at this point had noticed Lillian walking towards her, and perhaps unconsciously took a few steps back. The older woman grabbed at the girl’s wrist, eliciting a gasp from Aya.
“Do I need to put chains on you?” Lillian said without humour, “you were supposed to stay in the church, where it was safe.”
“It’s safe now,” Aya protested,” look, look out there!”
She swept her arm across the rest of the valley and the fighting below. Lillian’s brows were nit, her face crushed in anger, but she did gaze out toward the scene. Still, whatever she found there did little to quell her fury, and she did not release Aya.
The twins took the opportunity to make their way to the far wall and peer over the crenelations. The view yielded much the same as before, and indeed, it seemed like the soldiers were winning handedly. Sorore and Frare watched as the remaining flailing horrors were pinned to the ground with spear and stick, and hacked to death by cold steel. In addition, Sorore realised that the cold fear that had struck her to the core was now abated almost entirely.
“He did that,” she said, “I saw it, I know it. You did too, didn’t you? You were outside Lillian, you saw the fire. It killed the monsters, you saw it. He saved us.”
“It did not save us,” Lillian hissed, “look again, young lady. Do you think all the corpses down there are of the monsters?”
She pointed with her gauntlet down below, where great black marks had been gouged in the hillside. Sorore could make out the twisted remains of bodies, some horribly deformed, some still adorned in armour and clutching weapons. Her stomach turned, and Aya’s expression faltered as she stuttered a half-hearted response.
“We were lucky it didn’t burn down the church instead. Maybe it couldn’t control it, maybe it ran out of power before it could do so. All that I know is that we cannot trust it.”
“He has a name, Lillian,” Aya said, starring the paladin in the eyes.
With a sound of disgust, Lillian handed her over to Niche’s grip, and raised her sword.
“Stop!” Aya gasped, her face blanching as she realised what the paladin was about to do.
“This thing is dangerous, and so is this creature that wears the skin of an animal,” she said, “I will not tolerate his presence, for your safety and ours. Not only that, he’s infected you with corrupt ideas. Unacceptable.”
Sorore felt her breath still as she looked at the glinting edge of the blade. As much as she had her doubts about Efrain, as much as the words of Lillian comported with church teaching, she still had misgivings. The man had attempted to help them, perhaps out of self interest maybe, but so did merchants. Her father was a merchant, and so were many of her family and friends back in Erratz. And it didn’t seem right, to strike this man down when he was so obviously incapacitated.
She began to try and articulate these thoughts, to provide some defence, perhaps to seek some kind of alternative to execution. Lillian was in no mood to hear, however, and prepared a thrust to the heart of the black cloth. Then Frare was there, oh, so brave brother, stepping in between the mage and the paladin.
“No,” he said, planting his feet on the ground and squaring his shoulders, “you’re going to kill someone who isn’t even an enemy, and is unconscious besides?”
Lillian did bring the sword down in response, but only to grab his shoulder, and send him stumbling down the slope of the roof.
“He’s right,” said Sorore, seizing upon the moment, “what about your honour?”
“My task is to keep you safe,” said Lillian, “honour means nothing if it compromises my mission.”
The sword had reached the height of its arc, Sorore trying to think of any excuse to stay the blade. Aya pulled in breath and screamed at the paladin to stop. Frare peeled himself off from the slates and sprinted to catch the blade.
The thing that ultimately ended up stopping it, however, was no action from the children. Through the hills and village, came the sound of a long horn blast. Lillian, temporarily distracted from her grim task, looked out to the west. In the distance was a line of burning torches and glinting steel spears. Her frown deepened, the sword edge touching the roof as she craned her neck. With a final dawn of realisation in her eyes, her jaw tightened as she spoke words through clenched teeth.
“Two days,” she grunted in disgust, “the liar.”
All eyes on the roof of the church turned towards the new column of troops. Frare managed to put himself squarely before the paladin before her attention turned back to the mage at her feet.
“It needs to be done,” said Lillian, frustration audible in her voice, “you can either get out of the way, or I can move you. You do not have a say in this.”
Frare didn’t reply, only raised his fist and bent his knees, ready to spring or defend, whatever came first. Lillian reached out with her gauntlet, fully prepared to repeat the previous engagement. As another horn blast echoed off the mountains, Sorore finally found her answer in the minutiae of church hierarchy.
“Neither do you, Lillian,” she said, stumbling over her words in her haste, “nor Niche. You’re beneath the rank of commander, you’re not a full light-lord. Therefore, if you execute the mage, who is his charge, then you will have committed insubordination. He could use that as a pretext to… do all sorts of things.”
In truth, Sorore had very little idea of what kinds of punishments there were for insubordination, but they were probably quite nasty.
It seemed that assumption was correct, or at least enough to stay her blade for a moment longer. Lillian’s expression was one of confusion bordering on disbelief that Sorore had pulled rank on her. When pain and realisation came into her eyes, Sorore knew that she’d hit the mark.
The riders from the western mountains began to ride up the hill, gaining speed and lowering spears. The creatures outside the blackstone wall, no longer as numerous as they once were, twisted and screamed at the new opponents. The resulting clash was muffled by distance, but it was enough to tell Lillian that her time was up.
“Lillian, please,” said Sorore, “mage or no, I don’t think he’s evil. You don’t have to do anything, you don’t have to trust him. Let the commander choose what to do with him. Besides, he’s not of any harm right now, right?”
All three children nodded emphatically in agreement.
Lillian’s face was stricken, looking back and forth between the fresh host, and the party of five on the rooftop. Finally, her sword point lowered all the way to the roof, as she let out a heavy sigh.
“Are you serious?” said Niche, “we’ll never get a better chance.”
“We need…” she said, begrudging every word, “what do you want me to say, Niche? The man’s a threat, yes. He’s also unconscious. He might well be the commander’s charge, and he… he hasn’t harmed the children yet. Not directly. What am I supposed to- I don’t know what to do.”
The admission stunned Niche, enough to let Aya wriggle out of his grasp and run forward. She crouched by the body of the fallen mage, turning back to look with unbridled defiance at the paladins. Lillian’s shoulders sank and she passed a hand over her eyes, covering them in shadow.
“Niche…” she said, exhausted, “just… just take the children down.”
Niche’s face blurred between anger, disbelief, stolid determination, before finally relenting to his sister-in-arm’s request.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” she said, drawing herself up, “I will not strike the mage, you have my word. But you are all going down into the church, and you are going to stay there, until we give you leave to go. Do you understand?”
Even Frare nodded, recognizing the concession made, but still backed by a steely undercurrent.
All three of them were led away by Niche, whose face had settled into an inscrutable mask. The last thing Sorore saw of Lillian before passing the doorway was her sheathing her blade. A couple of steps down, Sorore flinched at a distant yell of frustration. When Lillian joined them in the main hall of the church, none elected to comment on the bloody knuckles she held in her other hand.
The rest was almost routine, in an odd kind of way. The defenders, invigorated by the sudden reinforcement, began to hoot and holler as the last creatures were butchered. Ladders were thrown over the wall, make-shift, but well made enough to support the weight of armoured knights clambering up.
At the head of the company, fully dressed in gleaming armour, with the brass shoulder plate of command, Naia removed his helm. His dark hair shone with sweat, which he wiped from his forehead using a bare hand. The contingent came into the church, where Damafelce and several of the captains rushed forward to greet him. As the bodies of the slain were collected and laid out in the church grounds, villagers and soldiers alike began to crowd around the commander.
“You all did well,” he said, raising his voice, “and I must apologise for arriving late.”
His soldiers gave wry smiles in response, knowing that he’d ridden his troops as hard as he could. The smile Naia offered in response was stretched if knowing, Sorore noticing the bags under his eyes.
“Well then, ladies and gentlemen of Albion. You have carried yourselves with great dignity with bravery to match. Your homes still stand today because of it, and now you have the chance to return. I must confer with my captains.”
With that, the vast majority of villagers began to filter out toward the town, speaking words of praise and thanks as they did so. The paladins stood with characteristic dark expressions, perhaps anticipating another conflict in the near future. Damafelce gave a clipped report, mostly losses and a broad overview of how the battle had been resolved. Three dozen villagers, half that many knights, a significant blow to their force.
“I expected worse when I saw the fog,” he said, “your performance was exemplary.”
The captains nodded, a handful offering claps on the back to the Hebeenian knight. For a moment, Sorore thought that the great calamity brought by the mage might go impossibly unmentioned.
“Well, there is one person here that deserves more credit, I think,” she said, grown sheepish.
“Oh really?” Naia said, one eyebrow raised, “and where might he be, then?”
“Commander,” said Lillian, stepping into the circle, “we need to have a word with you. Now.”
At her glare, the rest of the villagers made excuses and scampered away, while the captains traded unfavourable looks at the pair.
“Ah,” said Naia, “I see we have quite the story to tell. Damafelce, you stay, the rest of you are dismissed to see to clean up and recover, as best you can. The knights of the Alonshaze will work with you to see this done. There will be a morning brief later.”
“Now,” he continued, after seeing them off, “you obviously have something that needs to be said. Out with it.”
Damafelce issued another report, of the mage’s project over the last few days. With the additions of Sorore’s lessons, and their experience down in the crypt, the picture became clearer. When Damafelce described how the battle came to a surprising and fiery end, Naia held up his hand.
“Well,” he said, eyes glittering with what looked like amusement, “he was certainly not lying about his power being dampened.”
“That’s all you have to take from this?” said an aghast Lillian.
“Oh, I perfectly understand your complaints,” he said, “you believe he’s a threat to the children. I would argue that his actions prove otherwise, at least so long as we hold his self-interest. Besides, any of us could harm the children if we were so inclined, that’s not unique.”
“Commander, you sound as if you’re suggesting we overlook this,” said Lillian, her eyes narrowing.
“Yes. Not forgetting, mind you. But ignoring it for the time being, anyhow,” he said.
“Absolutely not,” she said, “I will not let you-”
“You are not in the position to be making demands, paladin,” said Naia, with a surprising force.
He went on to explain how he had ridden west and up, past the foothills and into the mountain passes. It didn’t take him long to find the road leading to the mountain fortress of the Alonshaze. What he’d found when he’d finally reached it was dire.
Sorore had remembered the walls and towers of the outer wall, the monastery-style church and its library, and the keep, half-carved into the face of a sheer escarpment. She could not believe the commander’s account of its ruin, how the gate had been sundered, how the outerwall largely lay in rubble overflowing into the pass it guarded.
“What’s more,” he continued, “Ryzea is missing, whether dead, or gone on some hunt, none are sure, not even the other commanders.”
Lillian’s face fell at the news, and Sorore felt her heart ache in her chest. She’d only known the massive man with snow white locks for a short time. He’d been blunt, some would say almost crude, but his refreshing honesty and wisdom of ages had charmed her. What’s more, he’d seemed immovable, unshakable, due to his harsh experience and his physical bulk. And now he was dead? That was difficult to conceptualise, let alone believe.
“Half the knights rode to our aid, the others stayed behind to salvage and secure what they could,” Naia continued, “some will continue on to reinforce us on our way to Angorrah, a way of which I will choose.”
He sighed, and shook his head as he looked the two paladins dead in their faces.
“I have been lax over enforcing my rank, because, firstly, I respect the light lords a great deal, and secondly, I believed it was best for order. But there comes a point where I must remind you it was I who was chosen to supervise this mission. Lady Aya’s coming has been a surprise to us all, and complicated things, but that does not change who gives the orders. The next time I have to bring this up, it will be a formal reprimand. Do you understand?
Lillian’s face had gone from white to shame-filled red, though she said nothing. The air was thick with barely repressed outrage, held back by the presence of technical correctness, and two dozen knights standing behind their commander.
“Then,” Lillian said, forcing her voice to be calm, “what of the mage?”
“You will leave him to me,” said Naia, smiling a thin, humourless smile. [←Chapter 51] [Cover Art] [My Links] [Index] [Discord] [Subreddit] [Chapter 53→]
Need help narrowing down school List to about 30-35. I understand some of these schools are way out of my league but I figured I'd shoot my shot.
cGPA: 3.84 sGPA: 3.76 URM MCAT: 511
Research: 1365 hours
Leadership: 1200 hours
Clinical: 1930 hours
Tutoring/Lab assistant: 1311 hours
Other non-clinical employment Cashier: 960
Community Service: 127 hours
Shadowing: 62 hours
I also help care for an adult with developmental disabilities who moved into our home and I calculated hours to be 3,650 over a span of 4 years. Not sure if this would be counted as community service or extracurricular.
Oregon Health & Science University, University of Florida, University of Miami, University of California LA (Geffen), University of california San Diego, Emory, Central Michigan University, Howard University, Meharry Medical College, Morehouse, Temple University, Michigan State University, Drexel University, University of Toledo, Albany Medical College, University of Cinicinnati, Rosalind Franklin University of Medicine & Science, Sidney Kimmel Medical College, George Washington Rutgers, Robert Wood Johnson Medical School, Loyola University, UMass Chan Medical School, Tufts University, UCSF School of Medicine, Boston University, USF Health Morsani College of Medicine, Albert Einstein College of Medicine, Stony Brook University of Medicine, Brown University, University of Chicago, University of Michigan Medical School, Northwestern University, Johns Hopkins Medicine, NYU Grossman, Harvard Medical School, Duke School of Medicine